


Telling Stories Again

by KyotoCaitlyn



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Family, Friendship, Gen, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Illness, Mild Language, Modern Setting, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Some angst, Suicide mentions, Trauma, past child sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 58
Words: 386,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyotoCaitlyn/pseuds/KyotoCaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In one terrible night, everything changed for Edward and Alphonse.  In one night, their happy world was shattered and they'd find no escape for almost ten years.  Once it's all over, they're left to pick up the pieces and neither of them can talk about what happened.  That is, neither of them can talk about it until one day Ed decides that he wants to tell stories again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dumb Ass Group for Dumb Ass Teens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a huge project that came to me and just had to be written down. There's hard stuff in this one and the boys aren't always going to reflect who they are because of that. If you're confused by this first chapter, hang in there! I promise that as Ed tells the story, things will make sense :) Enjoy!

Dad's been forcing me and Al to attend a group for teenagers for a couple months now.  It's stupid, I think, but it's important to him.  The last several years have been hard on everyone and Dad thinks that giving me and Al an "outlet" other than therapy is the best way to help us.  I don't see it, though.  Nobody ever talks at the meetings we're forced to go to.  We just sit in a circle and stare at each other.  The group's for teens who have been through hard stuff.  You know; abuse, domestic violence, terrorist attacks.  That sort of thing.  When the group started the guy in charge made us introduce ourselves and say what we were attending for if we were comfortable enough to.  When he got to Al and me, Al just cried (and puked.  He doesn't like to talk about it.) so I introduced us.  I left out what we were there for, though.  I don't like to talk about it, 'specially since it just ended two years ago.  I think telling people's the worst part.  They treat you different once they know.  Even Winry does that.  She doesn't say certain things around us and treats us like we're fragile.  We're not.  We can take care of ourselves.  We've just seen some shit.  But everyone's seem some, I guess.  Just not the same shit.

Dad drops us off at the group and Al's shaking.  He gets nervous around groups of people now.  When he was really little, he was a social butterfly.  Mom always talked about how much Al liked people and how it might get him into trouble someday.  Boy, was she wrong.  He hates people now.  Actually, that's not true.  He's scared of people now.  He's scared that they'll hurt him or tell him how he's a waste of space.  I regret that.  I didn't do enough to protect him then and he's suffering for it now.  I have problems, too, but not like he does.  He always had it worse in terms of the emotional stuff.  I always got the brunt of the physical stuff.  Always did.  Mostly 'cause I wouldn't let  _her_ lay a finger on him if I could help it.  We walk inside and Al instinctively reaches for his backpack.  Inside is his comfort item, something that makes him feel safe.  He doesn't pull it out most of the time now, just touches his backpack to make sure it's there.  I haven't actually seen him carry Chico around for a couple months.  Our therapist suggested it since it reminds him of Mom.  I think it helps.  Don't misunderstand, though.  My brother's not some big baby.  He's strong - stronger than anyone I know.  Hell, he's stronger than me in a lot of ways.  But he's seen shit.  I've seen shit.  So we've got problems because of it.  That's why Dada's making us go to this dumb ass group for dumb ass teens.  He thinks it will solve what the therapist can't.  I don't think it will but if it makes him feel better, I'll do it.  Maybe it'll solve what his "dealing with guilt" class couldn't.

There's a circle of chairs in the middle of the office as always.  There's also a table of snacks, one that we always ignore.  We're never hungry when we get here.  There's a few kids here already and they wave at us timidly.  Al waves back and I pull on his arm.  I guide him to our usual seats and the guy in charge meets us.  The guy in charge is actually our therapist which is nice.  At first, I was scared that he'd out why we're here but he never did.  Instead he lets us sit in blissful silence until the hour's up.  He's trying something new this week, he says.  He says he's opening up the floor for people to tell stories.  It can be about anything but he's hoping that the more we talk, the more we'll open up about what happened to us.  It won't.  I know for a fact Al won't say anything and I know I won't, either.  When I was a kid, I used to love telling stories.  I had a big imagination and could go on and on, about anything really.  I don't think I could do that anymore.  Whenever I try to tell a story, the words get caught in my throat like bubbles trapped under ice.  I can't speak, I can't breathe; I can't do anything but swallow my words.  It's because of  _her_ that I do that.   _She_ hated my stories.   _She_ said they were stupid and never let me tell 'em.  Now I can't hardly talk at all.  I think that's what Dada feels the guiltiest about.

The group finally all shows up and we start.  Our therapist, Dr. Hughes, starts talking about how stories define humans from animals.  People share stories and it makes them human.  I think that's shit but whatever.  It sounds nice at least.  I do like to read so I guess I get where he's coming from.  Beside me Al fumbles with his shirt.  I can tell he's nervous so I pat his arm.  Once Dr. Hughes is done talking he "opens the floor".  This is when the awkward silence that defines our group begins.  He wants us to talk about what's bothering us, what we've been through, or tell our stories.  No one ever does.  Instead we stare at each other, all knowing that we've seen shit.  We've all seen the worst of humanity and we all know it.  Why talk about it?  Eventually, Dr. Hughes will tell a story about his daughter to lighten things up and then kids'll talk about school or church or sports, but they never talk about what he wants them to.  As the silence goes on he turns to me and Al.  Al turns white and I groan.

"Ed, Al?" He addresses softly.  He knows loud voices can trigger us sometimes; sends us into unimaginable panic and even though it's dumb we think  _she's_ back.  "Do you want us to tell us something?"

"Why bother?" I ask. "We all know that we've seen shit.  Why do we gotta talk about it?"  Dr. Hughes does that annoying "dad chuckle" and shakes his head.

"Because knowing that it happens isn't why we tell stories," he tells me. "Why do we tell stories, Ed?"  I turn my face away, unwilling to talk.

"Um," my brother squeaks, "To allow unheard voices to be heard and share the deepest part of ourselves."  Everyone turns to look at him.  Al hasn't spoken, not once, in group.  He threw up the first day when Dr. Hughes told us to introduce ourselves and that's it.  They know him as the "puke kid".  Dr. Hughes smiles and nods.

"That's true, Al, thank you," he says.

"We still have nightmares," I begin suddenly, the bubbles in my throat rapidly popping.  For some reason, Al having the courage to speak has given me some.  I feel like talking for the first time in a long time.  For the first time since  _she_ came into my life, I feel like I can tell stories again.  "We still have panic attacks, we still sleep with our dad when we're scared, still carry stuffed animals around, still cry at night, and we even wet the bed.  But that's not why we tell stories.  When we tell people what happened, they pity us.  They look at us like we're China dolls that need to be protected.  Everyone who knows what happened walks on egg shells around us because they don't want to hurt us anymore.  But that's not why we tell stories.  We tell stories so we're heard.  We tell stories so that we feel like we matter.  And we tell stories so people know that life goes on."  I pause and the whole room is staring at me.  Al looks at me and asks what I'm doing with his eyes.

"Well, Ed?" Dr. Hughes prompts. "Do you have a story to tell?"  I nod.

"Yeah," I say, those bubbles still popping. "I got a story.  I got a story about two little kids from Illinois, a story about their dad who never stops working, their mom who loved them with everything she was, and the monster that ruined it all."

"Brother," Al whispers urgently, "Don't."

"It's okay, Al," I tell him. "It'll feel good to tell it, I think.  Trust me."  Al puts his backpack on his legs and takes Chico out.  I wait for him to nod before I continue, "It all started after Al was born.

"My family is your typical apple pie American family.  Mom was born and raised here in this hick Illinois town and moved to Champaign-Urbana as a teenager and went to the U of I like a good kid should.  That's where she met Dad.  Dad's from Chicago and was in his senior year studying biochemistry when she started there.  They instantly hit it off and before anyone could even register that they were friends, they were engaged and got married while my dad was working on his doctorate.  Mom's name was Trisha Elric and Dad's Victor von Hohenheim.  We have Mom's last name, though, because Dada decided to take hers and hyphen it with his.  So, his name is Victor von Hohenheim-Elric and I know that's a mouth full.  After they got married and while Dad was still working on his doctorate, they moved back here where they wanted to raise a family.  Apparently the country air is good for raising kids.  I don't know.  Anyway, Dad started teaching biochem at the local college while Mom taught kindergarten at the elementary school.  Dada got really well known and started doing research on the side.  When his first paper was published, Mom was pregnant with me.

"After she had me, Dada started traveling a lot.  That didn't prevent her from getting pregnant again six months after she had me.  Al was born early a few months after my first birthday.  I'm a winter baby and he's a spring baby.  February and May.  The unstoppable Elric brothers.  Mom always wanted more kids but after she had Al, she was diagnosed with cervical cancer.  She had her uterus removed six months after Al was born and was devastated.  Still, she carried on and loved us like we were her whole world.  For me and Al, Mom  _was_ our whole world.  She was always there for us.  Dada was gone a lot so Mom was our solid rock.  I mean, we saw a lot of our friend Winry and her grandma, but Mom was always there.

"For a couple years it seemed like Mom's treatment had worked.  Because she was doing so well, Dad started doing research full time and teaching part time.  He traveled more and whenever he'd come home we'd get presents from wherever he went.  Just before Al's second birthday, Mom's cancer came back.  She was in and out of treatment for almost two years and even seemed to be getting over the hump and heading toward remission.  But a couple months after my fifth birthday, everything got worse.  She got sick, the sickest I've ever seen a person get.  She wasted away in the blink of the eye and looked like a corpse.  The cancer proved to be stronger than she was.  Within a month the cancer had made her into someone we didn't recognize as the cancer ravaged her body.  She lost all her body fat and lost all color in her skin.  She couldn't get up anymore and slept all the time.  She went into a coma a month before Al's fourth birthday and that was it.  Mom didn't get to see anymore birthdays, not even the one happening less than a month from then.  Everyone was devastated when she died.  I remember that Dada cried and cried.  I had never seen Dad cry before Mom died and I wouldn't again until a couple years ago when everything came to light.  Al's never cried harder in his life, I don't think.  See, Al blames himself for her death.  Since she got the cancer after he was born, he thinks it's his fault. 

"After Mom died and after Al's birthday, it was just the three of us for a while.  It was usually Mom who did all the parenting stuff so Dad was really out of practice.  He's never been good at the whole parenting thing.  Like, he loves us - I know he does - but he was never around.  When he was around, he was real quiet.  It's like he didn't know how to talk to kids.  He liked to tell us stories and sometimes he'd tickle us 'til our tummies hurt but that was about it.  Granny Pinako says that Dad's just reserved, whatever that means.  They've known each other since Granny's kids were kids so I guess she'd know.  I'm not sure if I resent Dad or not.  I mean, he wasn't really there for us when Mom died because he was so depressed and worked all the time and he's emotionally stunted.  Back then, it was really just Al and me even though Dad was around.  And it was hard.  And it's his fault that we met _her_ to begin with.  so I have a lot of mixed feelings about Dad.

"After Mom died, Brother and I were having trouble sleeping.  You know; nightmares, sleep walking, bed wetting, and night terrors.  That sort of thing.  Dad's not a mean man or anything so it wasn't like we were punished but he didn't really know how to handle it.  We basically had to take care of ourselves for a few months.  Before I started kindergarten, I'd make Al sandwiches in the mornings for breakfast.  I had preschool from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon for about a month after Mom died.  I needed a lunch on those days and Dada would always forget to make my lunch.  Al did his best to make me lunch so I wouldn't go hungry.  He'd spend the day with Granny while me and Winry were at school so he always got fed.  He'd make me a jam sandwich and then just throw in whatever he could find.  We didn't have a lot of sack lunch food, though.  No carrot sticks, we were always out of grapes, no juice boxes, and definitely no Zebra Cakes.  But Al did his best so that's what mattered.  It was around then that  _she_ started hanging around.

"I guess Dada thought we needed a mom.  I guess he thought he couldn't handle being a single parent and wanted to recruit someone to join our very disorganized team.  I remember Dad sitting us both down to talk about it.  He asked if we'd be okay with him dating and promised that he wasn't trying to replace Mom.  I remember being really confused and that Al cried.  Dada then turned it into that sports analogy.  He told us that we were a team and that we'd always be one.  He said that no matter what happened between him and someone else, Mom would always be part of our team and we'd always be part of his.  He just thought we needed a new member; someone to help balance our disjointed family out.  When he put it that way, well it made sense to us.  Dad did need help cleaning the house and really couldn't cook at all.  It made sense that he felt like we needed someone who could help him out with that stuff.  It didn't seem so scary.  So, we told him we were okay with him dating.  But I remember telling him that I would probably never call that new lady "mom" because Mom is Mom.  He said he understood and didn't expect me to call anyone he dated "mom" unless I was absolutely comfortable with it.

"So, that brings us to the real story," I say, pausing to look at everyone's faces.  The group is staring at me, some leaning forward in their seats.  It looks like they're eager to hear the rest, though there's no way I could finish the story in the thirty minutes I have left.  This is a story that would take weeks to properly tell and I don't know if Dr. Hughes will give that to me.  Still, I'm going to set it up for them so that maybe next week it'll be easier for me and Al to talk about it.  At the thought of Al, I look over at him.  His hands are desperately clutching Chico, his whole body shaking.  Sometimes we still get scared that if we tell someone the truth, tell them what happened,  _she'll_ hurt us somehow.  I know he's scared and honestly, so am I.  I lived with that threat hanging over my head since I was six and was just freed from that two years ago.  It's hard for that sort of thing to go away.

"Ed?" Dr. Hughes says, encouraging me to keep going.  I bite my lip.

"Al," I say gently, "If you don't want me to, I'll stop."  Surprisingly, he shakes his head.

"No," he replies with a shaking voice. "I want you to tell it.  Maybe if you do, someday I can talk about it, too.  Maybe someday it won't chase me anymore."  I grin weakly and turn to Dr. Hughes.

"Mind if I take up the rest of the hour?" I ask and I'm kinda cheeky.  Dr. Hughes smiles and shakes his head.

"Not at all," he says.  He gestures to the group and says, "I think they're all invested in what you have to say."  I nod.

"Okay, then," I sigh, "Let me introduce  _her_ to you all.

"Dada met her at a conference in the south - Florida, I think.  She was tall, blonde, and pretty.  She was also super good at chemistry, something that I think turns Dad on.  She does have a name, but it burns my tongue to say it.  But I have to say it, though, so you guys understand who she is.  Her name's Vanessa.  When Dad got back from the conference, she was all he could talk about.  Vanessa this, Vanessa that.  It was annoying but I remember feeling happy because Dad was happy again.  He had stopped telling stories after Mom died but when he met Vanessa, he started telling them again.  He tickled us, gives us kisses, and even remembered to pack my lunches.  Dad wasn't depressed anymore.  And when we met her, we could see why.  She was nice, really nice - the kind of nice Mom was.  Vanessa liked to give us hugs whenever she came over, she played with us, and cooked dinner for us.  She even helped Dada keep the house clean when she was over.  She told lots of jokes and I remember thinking that I'd be okay if Dad married her.  She seemed like a good fit; someone who fit in with our team.

"Back then, Vanessa lived in St. Louis which is, like, four hours from here.  She'd come up on weekends and stay 'til Monday morning.  Dada liked her so much that when we'd have dinner with Granny and Winry, she'd come, too.  If I hadn't had been five at the time, I might have seen the way Granny looked at her.  I might have understood why Granny was rude to her and fought with Dada about how she was spending too much time with us too soon.  I might have known that Granny knew that she was off somehow.  But I didn't.  So, in January when they got engaged, I was excited.  So was Al.  We talked about how our family was growing.  We even thought that we'd get new brothers and sisters.  We were beyond excited. 

"Vanessa moved in with us in February.  At first, things were great.  Wedding planning was fun and she let us pick flowers and other things.  She liked to sleep in the living room sometimes so we could have "camp outs".  She took us for ice cream every weekend and even took us to fun places in St. Louis that we had never seen before.  Al's favorite was the zoo.  He's always liked animals and talked about them all the time.  I liked the City Museum the best and we both liked the Science Center.  Al and I have always been super interested in science since Dad's a biochemist.  After we'd take our trips to St. Louis, I would tell stories.  Even if they were made up, I'd talk for hours.  I loved to tell stories.  Guess I get it from Dad.  Things were going so great and I didn't think life could get any better.  It was then that things began changing.

"Whenever Dad'd go away, Granny would watch us at her place.  We'd have sleepovers with Wirny and it was always so fun.  After Vanessa moved in, that stopped happening.  We would still have sleepovers at Winry's but Vanessa would watch us when Dad went away.  It was late February, maybe early March, the first time Dada took a trip after Mom died.  He was going to Germany for work.  Al always cried when Dad would leave and Dad would always hug us tight before getting on his plane.  I remember that once Al had calmed down, he was excited to spend the week with Vanessa.  She seemed excited, too.  We got home and that night was great.  We watched a movie, ate dinner, and got put to bed right on time.  But That Night, things got bad.  In one night, our whole world changed forever.

"Al and I share a room.  We always have.  There are enough rooms in our house for us to have our own, but we never have.  Before That Night, we were actually thinking about having separate rooms.  But after that, we never thought about it again.  We needed each other so we knew we had to keep sharing a room.  That night, Al woke up around midnight.  He was crying so I woke up, too.  Keep in mind that he's only four and I'm barely six when this happened.  I got out of my bed to check on him and he told me he wet the bed.  He was really upset because he had been staying dry a lot recently.  I remember thinking that Vanessa would give him lots of kisses to make it all better.  We walked down to hers and Dad's room and opened the door.  She was asleep still and Al timidly walked over to her bed.

"'Nessie,' he whispered.  Vanessa stirred and woke up, her tired eyes staring at us.

'What is it?' She asked sleepily.  Al started crying again so I knew I'd have to say what happened.  As she stared at us, though, I remember that my hands started sweating.  I was nervous and my heart was pounding.  For some reason, I was scared.  I didn't want to say what happened.  I shook my head and her brow lowered dangerously over her eyes.  'What happened?' She demanded.

'Uh,' I began softly, 'Al wet the bed.'  Time seemed to stop as she stared at us.  Al quit crying for a moment as the seconds crawled by.  Vanessa stood up slowly and placed her hand on Al's head.  My heart beat wildly as I waited, terrified that she would hurt Al.

'Is that so?' She questioned quietly.  Al nodded and I held my breath.  She lifted her hand and for a split second, the danger had passed.  But then time caught up with us and her hand opened.  She smacked Al so hard he fell backward and I gasped loudly.

'Hey!' I cried, turning to her. 'That wasn' nice!'  Vanessa rounded on me, a fire burning in her blue eyes and her glare made me feel only an inch tall.

'You know what isn't nice?!' She roared as Al sat up. 'Two little brats waking me up in the middle of the night because one of them pissed in the bed!  Why don't you clean it up?!  If you're old enough to come and wake me up you're old enough to clean it up!'  I remember being confused.  She knew that Al and me sometimes wet the bed.  She knew that while it was getting better, we hadn't grown out of it yet.  She knew we had nightmares and got scared at night.  She knew that we sometimes slept with Dada when we were scared.  I remember not understanding why she got so mad.

'But, Nessie,' I protested, my voice quivering as she loomed over me, 'We don' know how.'  She stuck her bottom lip out at me and even though I was only six, I knew she was making fun of me.

'We don't know how,' she mocked as Al fearfully grabbed my hand. 'You poor, poor  _babies_.  You don't know how to clean up your own disgusting mess.  So the person who needs sleep the most because they have to work to feed you ungrateful little brats has to clean it up.  That sounds fair!'  I glanced over at Al and his face was already red where she had hit him.  He was crying again, silent tears rolling down his face.  I could tell he was scared; scareder than he'd ever been.  I knew because I was, too.  In a matter of minutes Vanessa went from nice new team member to monster and we were both scared.  We didn't know what she was going to do to us.

'I'm sorry, Nessie,' Al said miserably. 'I didn' mean to.'  Vanessa glared at him and I knew then we were in trouble.

'Outside, Alphonse,' she commanded.  Al didn't budge, his legs unable to move because he was terrified of what would happen if he did.  She stepped forward and I instinctively stood in front of my little brother.  I remember thinking in that moment that it was us against  _her_ now.  I wasn't going to let her hurt him if I could help it.  I also remember thinking just how big and scary she was.  I also remember how bad my legs were shaking and how a little pee escaped as I bravely stood between her and Al.  Vanessa pushed me over and I sat up just in time to watch her grab Al by the hair.  She dragged him out of the room and I quickly stood up.  I hurried after them, Vanessa opening the door to the backyard.  Al was struggling, apologizing over and over as she dragged him outside.  I watched from the sliding glass door as Vanessa turned on the hose and sprayed my brother with it.  There was snow on the ground and the only thing Al had on his feet were his socks that were already damp because he wet the bed.  I didn't know what I could do to help, but I knew I had to do  _something_.  I hurried outside and grabbed her arm.

'Stop it!' I cried, dangling from her arm. 'Stop, Nessie!  It was a accident!  He didn' mean it!  Please, stop!'  I held on for a moment before she grabbed my hair.  She threw me down, water from the hose wetting my clothes as she held the hose near me.  I could feel my knee bleeding and instinctively started crying.

'Aw,' she mocked. 'Does Eddy have an owie?'  I nodded, though I knew she was making fun of me.  Al was shivering behind me, his clothes completely soaked.

'I wan' Dada,' I cried pathetically, ashamed that not only could I not keep Al safe, I had to go and pee myself because I was scared.  I thought she was gonna spray me with the hose but she didn't.  Instead she turned it off and walked to the sliding glass door.

'Stay out here,' she instructed. 'If you're going to pee inside a bed like a dog, you're going to sleep outside like a dog.'  I looked at her, my brain unable to process what she said.  Vanessa walked inside and shut the door, Al and me scrambling up.  We hurried over to the door, thinking that surely she couldn't be that mean.  Someone that Dad loves wouldn't really leave us to sleep outside when we're both wet and it's still winter.  I went to open the door but it was locked.

'Vanessa?' I called, hoping she was standing nearby. 'Vanessa!'  I pounded on the door, but she never came back.  I tried opening it for a while but gave up after a while.  Al sat on the steps of the porch, shivering violently.

'C'mon, Ally,' I said.  He looked up at me with bleary eyes and I said, 'There's a dog house.  That'll keep us kinda warm.'  Al nodded and took my hand.  We walked over and crawled inside.  As soon as we were in the dog house, Al started crying loudly.  I wrapped my damp little body around his in a futile attempt to both calm him down and keep him warm.  We cried ourselves to sleep that night and nothing was ever the same."

I stop talking and look around the room.  The half hour's up but the kids aren't moving.  They aren't fidgeting, fighting to get out, like usual.  Instead they're all waiting; waiting for me to finished my story.  Dr. Hughes stands up and dismisses us, but tells me and Al he wants to talk after.  A couple kids come up to me and tell me how "brave" it was that I opened up.  I don't think I was brave.  I think that I just felt like telling a story - my story.  I've been trying to run from it for so long.  Ever since  _she_ got caught doing it to us two years ago, my life both fell apart and got better at the same time.  Nothing's been the same since then and I've been trying to run from it.  I don't want to be seen as an abused kid.  I don't want to be pitied because Dada never caught on and the school system failed us like they fail so many other kids.  I just want to tell my story.  I want to tell people about how weak I was, how I was unable to protect my little brother who needed me to be brave for him.  I want people to know that I was scared to tell my Dad over the phone after That Night what happened because  _she_ was scary.  I want people to know how ashamed I am of my past.  But I also want them to know there's hope.  I go to high school like everyone else.  I have friends, I'm in clubs, I do well in school.  Even though I'm only a sophomore I'm thinking about college and I know what I want to be when I grow up.  I might still carry a blanket around in my backpack and I might still wet the bed.  I might still cry a lot and I might still have nightmares.  Some nights I curl up next to Al or Dada because I'm so scared I think I'll die if I don't.  But I'm better than I was two years ago.  I'm better than I was nine years ago.  And most of all, I'm still getting better.  I want people to know.  I want to tell stories again.

"Ed," Dr. Hughes says, walking over.  Al's hand is concealed in mine, his whole frame shaking.  "You've never talked about the night the abuse started.  You've only called it 'That Night'.  It was really brave of you to talk about it."  I shrug and he turns to Al.  "And Al, it's brave of you to have to relive what happened through your brother talking about it.  You're both so brave."  Al smiles weakly.

"Dr. Hughes," I say, "I don't think it's brave."

"Really?" He asks.

"No," I reply. "I just want to tell stories again."

"I'm glad," Dr. Hughes tells me. "Your father mentioned when you started therapy with me that you always used to tell stories when you were younger.  I'm glad you're finally able to tell them again."

"Me, too," Al adds softly, his hand squeezing mine.  "I've missed Brother's stories."  I grin briefly.  Telling stories is a piece of me that I haven't seen in a long time.  For a while, I didn't think that I'd ever see that side of me again.  But somehow, Al being brave and saying why he thinks we tell stories reminded me that I love it.  I love to tell stories.  So, yeah; I guess it is brave for me to talk about it.

"I was thinking," Dr. Hughes begins, "Maybe you could try writing your story for people to read."

"How come?" I ask.

"Well, since you and Al opened the floor, I think other people are going to start talking," he explains. "I think the other kids are going to start telling their stories.  There won't be time for everyone every week, but it might help you to write it down.  If you're comfortable with that, you can pass it around for the kids to read so they know where your story goes.  Or we can just tell little bits of it.  Whatever makes you most comfortable, Ed."

"I've never tried writing," I say.

"Um, Dr. Hughes?" Al asks, "Maybe one week I could tell part of the story.  His story is mine, too.  I should be able to tell it."

"You're right," Dr. Hughes agrees. "You're always welcome to the floor, Al.  You know that."  Al nods.

"I could try writing for next week," I decide. "I want to tell my whole story but I don't want to take the floor time away from the other kids.  But I don't want them taking it and showing it to other people."

"If you do decide to use writing as a way to tell your story, I can send out an e-mail and invite people to come early," Dr. Hughes suggests. "Then you can read what you wrote to them so they won't spread your story around.  They know that everything said here is confidential."

"And it should stay that way," I say, blushing. "I didn't mean to tell them about how me and Al sleep together sometimes or about how I wet the bed."

"I know you didn't," Dr. Hughes says gently. "But they've all been there or they are there.  I don't think they're they type to spread this around.  But still, it's nice to know that this is between us."

"Boys."

Dad's voice fills the room and me and Al both look over at the same time.  He smiles warmly and Al stops holding my hand.  He hurries over and hugs Dada tight, Dad petting his hair.

"Hey, Dada," I greet.  Al ends the embrace and holds Dad's hand.  Chico's in the other hand and I know Dad.  He gets worried whenever he sees that cat or my blanket anywhere but in our backpacks or on our bed.  They walk back over and I know Dad's gonna give me his weekly "how was group" talk.  He always wants me and Al to tell him that it's really helping.  That he's helping us make progress so we can be "Mom's boys" again.  The thing is, though, I don't think we can ever be those boys again.   _She_ killed those boys That Night and I don't think Dada will ever see them again.

"How was group?" He asks right on queue.

"Fine," I say. "I actually talked about That Night."  Dad's eyes widen before his brow furrows.

"That Night?" He echoes.  I nod and he says, "But you've never talked about That Night.  You told me and that's it.  You've never even told Dr. Hughes.  Why'd you talk about it?"  I shrug.

"I don't know," I admit. "I guess 'cause Al reminded me why we tell stories to begin with.  So, I decided to tell mine.  Stories have a beginning and That Night is our story's beginning."  Dad gives me that proud smile and I grin back.

"I'm proud, Ed," he says. "I know how hard that must have been for you."

"Dada," Al begins, "Ed's gonna try to write the story, too.  And sometime, I'll tell part of it in group."

"That's wonderful," Dad says.

"Your boys really are improving," Dr. Hughes tells Dad who nods deeply. "I know it doesn't always seem like it, but they are."

"Boys," Dad addresses, his eyes resting on Chico.  I know what he's thinking.  How can they be getting better when Al is carrying Chico around with him?  But he doesn't know how Chico works.  Chico makes Al feel brave.  It makes him feel safe.  It's not bad.  But Dad doesn't get it so I know he's trying to get rid of us so he can talk worriedly to Dr. Hughes about us.  He doesn't really believe we're getting better.  But we are.  He just can't always see it.  "Winry's in the car.  Pinako asked me to pick her up from the garage so I did.  Why don't you go talk to her?"

"Yeah, okay," I say softly.  I grab Al's hand and gently pull him away from Dad.

"Dada," Al says, almost whines.  He knows what's happening.  He knows Dada is going to find ways we're failing; find the ways we're moving backward.  He pulls his hand away and says, "Dad, I'm sorry.  I only had Chico 'cause Ed was talking about That Night.  I can put him away, really.  I don't need him, Dada, promise."  Dad gives him that look - the look he gives when he doesn't believe you but is going to tell you he does.

"I know, honey," he says.  I cringe at the pet name and I take Al's trembling hand in mine again.  He usually only calls us pet names when he's trying to soften us up because he's about to say something harsh.  "If you need him, it's fine."  Lie.  That's a lie.  We both know it is.  Dad wants us getting better in an exponential curve.  He wants us to just keep getting better and better so he can live with himself.  But that's not how it works.  It's a scatter plot.  Some days we're normal kids and the next we’re blubbery messes.  Some days Al needs Chico and some days he doesn't.  Some days are better than others and some days are straight shit.  That's how this whole recovery thing works.  Dada doesn't understand.  I know he's trying but I also know he would like to sleep at night again.

"C'mon, Al," I say, "Let's go see Winry."  Al stays still for a moment before nodding.  I pull him away from Dada and Dr. Hughes, Al stuffing Chico into his backpack.

"You know," I say as we walk through the hallway, "It's really okay to need Chico.  I still need my blanket some days.  Sometimes you just need Mom."  Al nods.

"Yeah, I know," he sighs.  His eyes are tired and I can tell that today wore him out.  Group days don't usually but today was hard.  Today I told everyone about That Night, the night  _she_ reduced us to dogs.  That's hard to hear about and it's hard to talk about.  That's why we never do it.  "It's just.... I don't know.  I just want Dad to be proud.  I feel like we're never good enough.  Maybe we aren't."

"That's  _her_ talking, Al," I say instantly, even though I don't always believe that myself. "We are good enough, I think.  Dad just doesn't understand how this whole recovery thing works.  He just wants us to feel better and wants it sooner than it's actually possible."

" _She's_ still in my head, Brother," Al whispers to me, his voice shaking. "I know it's been two years and that I'll never see  _her_ again but,  _she's_ there.  I see  _her_ all the time in my dreams, I hear  _her_ in my head.  Maybe I'm never gonna get better."

" _She's_ in my head, too," I reply quietly.  I open the door and say, "But we're better than we were two years ago.  Hell, we're better than we were a year ago."

"If you say so," Al says.  We walk to Dada's silver hatchback and Winry gets out to greet us.  She waves, her blue eyes scanning us for signs of distress no doubt.  She always does that.  She thinks we're fragile; that we can't handle anything anymore.  It's like we're made of glass to her.  Winry thinks that if she's too rough, we'll shatter.  That's not true, though.  We may have seen shit, but who hasn't.  She used to be our friend but I don't know what she is now.  Friends don't treat their friends like they're made of glass.

"Hey, guys," she greets. "So, Granny invited you guys over for dinner if you're interested."

"You know I'm always up for Granny's cooking," I say.  Al doesn't let go of my hand and I see Winry's eyes drift there.  They always do.  She worries that Al's going to have a nervous breakdown any second.  There's a good reason for that, but I know Al doesn't like it.  He just wants to be her friend and for the past two years she really hasn't been.  I know she's trying but no one ever sees it from our point of view.  It was our world that was wrecked the day everything came to light, not theirs.  It was our world that came crashing down and it was us that were left to pick up the pieces.  Why everyone thinks it was them is beyond me.

"Hey, Winry?  Are you still up for watching that movie on demand tonight?" Al asks.  Winry smiles and nods.

"Sure am!" She chirps. "I've got it rented and everything.  I've heard lots of good things about this one."

"Hope you bought enough food to feed us," I tease. "You know I'm a walking garbage disposal."  Winry laughs.

"Don't worry," she says. "I stocked up on Doritos and ice cream yesterday in preparation.  Oh!  I forgot!  I got the new _Assassin's Creed_ so if you guys wanted to sleep over we could all play after the movie."

"I dunno, Winry," Al says nervously, his hand twisting the fabric of his shirt.  Winry does the sympathetic head tilt we both hate and smiles at him.

"C'mon, Ally," she says, using his pet name to butter him up. "It's been so long since you've stayed the night."

"Yeah, but," he protests, " _Assassin's Creed_ gives me nightmares sometimes.  I don't want to keep you and Granny up."

"You know we don't care about that stuff," she reminds him. "It's not like we'll get mad if you do have nightmares."  It's not just the nightmares Al's worried about.  He's been having a bad week sleeping-wise.  Some weeks are better than others and this week's been bad.  On top of having horrible nightmares, he hasn't been able to keep the bed dry hardly at all this week.  He doesn't want to wet the bed at Winry's house, not when he's fourteen.  I'm actually kinda scared I might do that, too.  I know Winry won't get mad but she'll pity us even more than she does already.  Her childhood friends can't keep their beds dry when they’re fifteen and fourteen.  She'd be embarrassed to call us her friends and treat us even more like we're made of glass.  It's definitely a bad idea.  But I wanna sleep over at the same time.  I wanna hang out with Winry and play video games like a normal kid.  I don't wanna be scared all the time.

"We'll ask Dada, okay, Win?" I say.  Al looks at me and asks with his eyes if I mean it.  I reply that I do because asking Dad might talk some sense into me about sleeping over.  He might remind me that I don't do well sleeping outside of my house and that I should really just wait until I'm better.  Well, more improved than I am now.  I don't think I'll ever be better, not all the way.

"You ready to go, kids?" Dad calls, walking out of the building with Dr. Hughes.

"Yeah," I call back.  They walk over and Dr. Hughes shoves a picture at us.  He's officially off-duty so the daughter-worshiping can officially begin.

"Look at this one!" He cries happily. "She's almost three!  Can you believe it?"  We all shake our heads.

"She's getting so big," Al comments.  We've been going to see Dr. Hughes since his daughter, Elicia, was a baby.  She's a sweet kid and all, it's just that Dr. Hughes worships the ground Elicia walks on.

"Three already?" Winry asks. "I can't believe it.  When's the party?"

"This weekend," Dr. Hughes answers, shoving Elicia back into his wallet. "You kids are welcome to stop by if you want.  I know Gracia and Elicia would be thrilled to bits to see you."

"Is Officer Mustang going?" Al asks, a note of panic in his voice.

"Roy?" Dr. Hughes questions. "I'm not sure, Al.  He hasn't told me yet."

"We can't go if Mustang's going," I say quickly.  Officer Mustang isn't a mean man or all that annoying.  It's just that he's the officer that arrested  _her_.  Seeing him is almost like seeing  _her_ and I know neither of us can handle it.

"Don't worry," Dr. Hughes tells me. "I'll know by our session on Friday so I'll tell you if he's going."

"Okay," I say, "Thanks."

"No problem," he replies. "I know it's nothing against him."  I nod and Dada gestures toward the car with his head.  Time to go I guess.  We say good-bye to Dr. Hughes and pile in the car.  I call shot gun so Al and Winry sit in the back.  Dad starts the car, the building getting smaller as we pull away.  For a while everyone's quiet until I remember that I was going to ask Dada about the sleepover.  Hopefully he'll convince the part of me that wants to go that it's a bad idea.

"Say, Dada," I begin casually.  Dad slides his eyes over to me and I say, "Winry's got the new  _Assassin's Creed_.  Think we could spend the night and play it with her?"  Dad grimaces and part of me sinks and rises at the same time.

"I don't know, Ed," he says. "Those sort of games give your brother nightmares."  Al looks away guiltily and for some reason I feel like now I have to fight for going.  Maybe it's 'cause Al feels guilty about having bad dreams over a video game and feels like he's preventing me from having fun.  I don't know.  But those bubbles have returned; the bubbles that close my throat up so tight that I couldn't speak even if I wanted to.  "And besides," Dad goes on, "It's a school night.  Al's not sleeping well this week so I think it's best if we wait for a different time."  Winry glances downward at the seat and for some reason those bubbles that prevented me from speaking begin popping again.

"That's what you always say," I tell him quickly. "Dada, Al never sleeps well, you know that.  What's the difference if he sleeps poorly at Granny's instead of our house?"

"I think you know the difference, Edward," Dad says, obviously trying to end the conversation.  The first name has been thrown in as a warning.  Stop talking about this.  Don't insist.  But those bubbles are popping and words keep spilling out of me like someone pouring water into an already full cup.

"You can't prevent us from having sleepovers forever," I argue. "Someday we'll just do it without asking or something.  Kids have sleepovers with their friends.  It happens.  We never got to do that so you shouldn't take it away from us now."  Al looks up and he says something to me with his eyes.  It's thank you.  Even though he's worried about sleeping over, I could tell from the get-go that he wanted to.  Violent video games  _do_ give him nightmares but he's good at them.  He likes playing them.  So do I.  We're Winry's friends, even though it doesn't feel like it most of the time.  She wants us to spend time with her, those bubbles insist as they keep popping inside me.  Fight for your right to be a kid, they tell me as Dad looks at me.

"Edward," he begins, "I just don't think it's a good idea."

"What if as soon as Al starts showing signs of distress, we stop," I suggest. "And we don't have anything to drink passed, like, nine.  And we bring Chico and my blanket.  Sound fair?"  Dada grips the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched.  To him, it does sound fair.  And that's the problem.  He knows it's wrong to tell us no; to deny us a basic right of childhood.  And yet he's struggling.  Because he also knows it's wrong to subject us to the unbearable amount of shame and embarrassment our sleeping issues bring.

"Please, Dada," Al adds, his big brown eyes staring right at Dad through the rear view mirror.  Dad sighs deeply, a hand massaging his temples.

"Well," he sighs, "I guess since it's Pinako and Winry there's no harm in it."  I cheer loudly, turning back in my seat to give Al a fist bump.  He grins, tapping his fist into mine.

"Now we have to go home," I say eagerly. "Got to pick up my stuff!"

"Thank you so much, Uncle Vic," Winry chirps.  He smiles weakly and nods.

"I can't keep them away forever," Dada says. "They are growing up and should be free to make their own decisions.  I can't deny them that."

"Thanks, Dad," I say, a stupid grin plastered on my face.  I know I'll feel differently tonight when I wake up screaming or drenched in my own bodily fluids, but right now none of that matters.  Al and I get to spend the night and that's all that really matters to me.

I fall back in my seat, thinking about how a couple of weeks ago, I would have never fought for the sleepover.  I would have taken Dada's no and left it alone.  But I fought for it.  I clawed for it.  Somehow, those bubbles in my throat that trap my words are disappearing.  They've been around since I was six and I'm finally being set free.  I don't have as many bubbles anymore.  I just have words; words that spill out of me like a waterfall.  Words that are gnawing to get out, to be heard by everyone.  I glance back at Al who isn't shaking.  He's smiling, his eyes twinkling like they used to when he was little.  He's talking about  _Assassin's Creed_ and is wondering how the new game fits into the series.  Now I realize why my bubbles are popping.  It's because of him.  It wasn't me who was brave first today.  It was him.  When Dr. Hughes asked why people tell stories, I turned away.  I tried to run from his question like I run from everything.  I tried to bury my face and those bubbles prevented me from talking.  But then Al speaks.  Al, the boy whose voice has been lost for much longer than mine, speaks out in a crowd of kids we don't know.  He shared why we tell stories, why it's important that our voices are heard.  That was all Al.  He was brave.  He was brave before I could be and that's why these bubbles that keep my voice buried deep inside my chest are popping.  Al is brave and when he's brave, I am, too. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So I've started the process of slowly going through each chapter and editing them for mistakes as well as tweaking some stuff so it matches the overall story better. While the main story, themes and ideas have remained the same, some important details or world-building things have evolved as the story has. So, each time I upload a new chapter, I'll go through an old one and edit it and update it so it's as perfect as it can be. Thanks for reading!


	2. The Fence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! A big thank you to anyone who's read the first chapter! It means a lot! So, here's the next one! Enjoy!

After running home to get our stuff we head to Granny Pinako's house.  Dada was friends with her son growing up in Chicago and they both moved to Resembool as grown-ups.  Winry's parents have been dead since we were little.  They were army doctors and got killed in Iraq.  Car bomb, I think.  I don't really remember.  They died when we were super little.  I couldn't have been older than five.  I don't think that  _she_ was around back then.  Anyway, Dada's not very good at cooking so we eat out a lot.  Except that we really don't.  Al gets too anxious to eat out most days so we actually end up picking food up from restaurants and eating at home  Dad's working on his cooking but it's a slow process.  So, Granny invites us over a lot for dinner so we get real food sometimes.  Plus, we get to hang out with Winry which is super nice considering we rarely do.  During dinner, Dad tells her that we're sleeping over.  She seems nervous at first but Dada tells her everything I told him in the car.  Granny knows that our nightmares and things can't always be avoided, but it makes her feel better that we're trying to prevent them.  She agrees and I'm smiling like a little kid on Christmas.  Being treated like normal kids feels good.  I don't get why kids in my class don't like being treated like they're kids.  Being treated that way is nice.  People are usually nice to kids so I don't get the problem.  Oh well.

Dinner ends and Dada makes sure we're really okay with being left here.  Al gets a little fidgety and we promise him that it's okay if he decides to go home.  In the end he stays, Dad kissing his forehead and reminding us both that we can call home anytime if we want to leave.  I give Dada a hug and he whispers "I love you" in my ear.  I whisper back, wishing for a split second that I never have to let go.  I imagine leaping into Dad's arms like when I was little and him holding me so close that I can hear his heartbeat.  The hug ends and I watch him leave, Winry popping popcorn in the kitchen.  The movie we're going to watch is  _The Wind Rises_.  We wanted to see it together when it was at the theater in town but never got around to it.  The movie theater in town only has two screens so they rotate movies through pretty quick.  We missed it when it was there and decided to just wait for it to come out on DVD instead of asking Dad or Granny to drive us to the next town over.  None of us can drive yet.  The movie starts, the three of us sharing the love seat.  Our thighs are smushed together and I feel safe.  Feeling safe isn't something that happens too often for Al and me.  Al feels safe with just a few people and a warm blanket to wrap up in.  I feel safe in a crowd.  I can hide in a crowd, disappear.  No one knows me in a crowd.  That's my safe place.  But my safest place is here with Al and Winry, their bodies warming mine.  I lacked positive physical touch for so long that anytime I can get close to someone, I do.  It freaks people out so I only do it around people I know well.  People just don't understand.  But Al does and Winry tries to.  So around them I can be my truest self; the Ed I fear is dead most of the time.

The movie ends around nine so we decide to play _Assassin's Creed_ until Granny tells us to go to bed.  It's a school night and our homework's done already, so I guess she'll come to tell us to go to bed around ten thirty or eleven.  Like we told Dad, Al and I stop drinking at nine to try and prevent any....  Well, any accidents from occurring.  We put the game in and decide how we're gonna take turns.  We decide that we'll switch when we reach a new town and when someone dies so we can all play before bedtimes.  Winry goes first because hey, she bought it, and we laugh as she makes the character do stupid stuff on screen.  You know, jumping around like a monkey, twirling during loading screens, that sort of thing.  It's funny and she's actually really good at the game so it's fun to watch her play.  We play for a while, Al rubbing at his eyes as the time ticks on.  He's been having issues sleeping lately so he's really tired.  He tries to go to bed early when he doesn't sleep well but he won't go to bed until we do.  I figure that he and I will probably end up in the same bed at some point, even if it's not right away.  We typically do sleep together, especially in the rare times we sleep away from home.  Even though it doesn't keep the bad dreams or night terrors away, we feel safe when we wake up to the other one beside us.  I don't know why.  I guess it's 'cause it's always been Al and me.  We've always been together and he was there for me when I needed someone most.

Around eleven Granny comes into the living room and tells us to stop.  Winry yawns and obeys, shutting off the Xbox before Granny kisses each one of us on the forehead.  She wishes us all sweet dreams and makes sure we don't want to call Dada.  Neither of us have a cell phone (Dad doesn't think we need one until we drive) so we'd have to use her house phone.  We tell her we're okay and go up to the guest room.  The guest room is like our second bedroom; our room away from home.  When we were little before  _she_ come around, we stayed over here a lot.  We have clothes and stuff here as well as some toys from when we were kids.  Winry walks with us upstairs and hugs us both before she goes into her room.  Al and I take turns in the bathroom before finally turning the light off.  We get in separate beds and try sleeping when I start to hear Al crying.  I sit up, wondering why he'd be crying.  We had so much fun with Wirny and it's been a pretty good day.  There has to be something bother him.  I stand up and creep over, Al trying to quiet down.

"Al?" I whisper.  Al doesn't do anything so I sit down on the bed.  He's all curled up in a ball, clutching Chico desperately to his chest.  "What's wrong?"

"I, uh," he struggles, "I can't....  I can't stop thinking about That Night."  I guiltily glance downward.  I knew he couldn't be okay with me talking about it.  He was just trying to be brave.  Trying to be brave for me.

"I'm sorry," I apologize guiltily.  Al rolls over and sits up as I say, "I shouldn't have talked about it.  I'm sorry, Al."

"Don't be," he tells me.  My brow furrows and he continues, "I needed you to talk about it.  I've been running from it for so long.  I've been so... ashamed of That Night.  I thought it was my fault.  My fault  _she_ hit you and my fault you had to sleep outside in the cold.  But when you told it today, when you told our story, for the first time I felt like it wasn't my fault.  Thank you, Brother."  He starts crying again and says, "Thank you."

"C'mon, Ally," I say softly, "It's okay.  Don't cry."  Al nods and tries to dry his eyes, but it seems hard for him.  The tears are like my words, I guess.  Now that it's started, it won't stop.

"Brother....  I know it's silly, but I'm scared," he says.

"Why?" I ask.

"Well, since I've been thinking about That Night, I'm terrified that Granny will make me sleep outside if I... if I wet the bed," Al explains.  He shakes his head and says, "I know that's crazy and would never happen.  But I know that in my head.  In my heart, I know something else."  I know what he means.  In our heads, we know that Granny would never do that.  In our heads, we know that Dada would never hurt us or yell at us the way  _she_ did.  In our heads, we know that  _she_ will never come back.  But our hearts aren't so sure.  They're scared; they're scared that Granny _will_ make us sleep outside, that Dada _will_ hit us, and that someday  _she'll_ find us.  Even though we know it won't, we're scared it will.  Our hearts just talk louder than our heads.  Most people are like that.  That's where that dumb phrase "follow your heart" comes from.  But our hearts are misleading; they lie to us.  They tell us to always be afraid.  I wish my heart would get better like my mind has but it just won't.  I guess the heart just heals slower than the mind.

"Want me to stay?" I ask  Al stills and I squint to see if he's gonna nod or something.

"Yeah," he finally says, his voice all wispy.  I stand and grab my blanket from the bed before crawling up into bed next to him.  Al lies down and rolls over, his back facing me.

"Are you gonna cry again?" I tease.  Al chuckles lightly.

"No," he tells me. "I won't."

"Good," I say. "Keep your tears in your eyes where they belong."

"Okay, Ron Swanson," he replies lightly.  I quickly sit up, remembering last minute to take my leg off.  I don't like sleeping with my prosthetic.  It's not comfortable and it can actually hurt my stump if I leave it on too long.

"Got it off, Brother?" Al asks.

"Mm," I hum, placing it near the bed in cause I get up to pee or something. "Yeah."  I lay back down, Al still curled up like a dried worm next to me.  "Night, Ally."

"Good night, Brother."

 _She's_ chasing me.  I can't see  _her_ but I know  _she_ is.  Al's running beside me, his tiny hand covered up by mine.  I scan the empty field ahead, my heart thumping wildly as I realize there's nowhere for us to run.  There's nowhere to hide.  Al whimpers and I turn to look at him.  There are big fat tears running down his face.  He's scared.   _She's_ getting closer, closing in on us and my chest starts heaving.  We keep running, unable to find sanctuary.  Up ahead is a grey line.  I squint, gasping when I realize it's a fence.  I pick up the pace, Al stumbling to keep up with me.  We get to the chain-link fence and start climbing.  I'm almost at the top when I hear Al scream.  He fell off the fence and  _her_ shadow darkens his whole body.  He's shaking violently, the invisible threat looming over him.

"Al!" I cry loudly.  I quickly climb back down and grab his hand, pulling him on to his feet.  "C'mon, Al!  Climb!  Hurry!"  Al struggles to climb and I stay behind him.  He can't fall - not again.   _She'll_ get him if he does.  There's jagged wire at the top of the fence and Al climbs over it.  I move to hoist myself over it when something grabs my leg.  I look down and there  _she_ is.   _Her_ nails dig into my calf and I feel the pee run down my leg.   _She's_ got me.   _She's_ going to hurt me.  I can't move, can't scream; can't do anything as  _she_ hangs on to my leg, the whole fence shaking.

"Brother!" Al screams, his hands digging into the jagged wire of the fence.  Blood runs down his arm and reaches over the edge for me.  "Brother, please!  Grab my hand!  You can do it!"  I swallow and grab Al's hand.  He winces and tries to pull me up.   _She_ weighs me down, making it hard to fight  _her_.

"Brother!" Al cries, tears running down his face.  His arm's shaking.  He can't hold it forever.

"Don't let go," I beg.  Al nods and tries harder, but his grip is slipping.  The fence grows taller as the blood makes his hand too slippery to hold.  "Al!"  I cry as my hand slips from his.  "Al!  Help!"

" _Brother!_ "  Al cries, frantically trying to grab hold of me.  I fall a little before his hand grabs a clump of my hair.  I look up gratefully at him, emptying my bladder completely when I see it's  _her_ grabbing my hair, not Al.

"You've been naughty again, Edward,"  _she_ growls,  _her_ voice like a man's.  

"Where's Al?" I cry, my whole body trembling.   _She_ glances downward at the ground, the ground that's much farther away than it should be.  I look down and scream.  There, lying on the ground, is Al.  Blood is pooling underneath him and he's barely breathing.  " _Al!_ "

"If only you were faster,"  _she_ mocks, pulling me up by my hair. "If only you had both legs."  I look down and my left leg is gone.  Where's my prosthetic?  I should have it!  _Where is it?!_

" _Brother!_ "

I can't tell if the Al who's dying says this or if it's coming from somewhere else.   _She_ keeps pulling me up by my hair and I start begging.

"Please, don't!" I cry, trying to get away. "Please!  I'll be good!   _I can be good!_ "

" _Brother!_ "

 _She_ smirks at me and  _her_ grip loosens on my hair.  I feel myself begin to fall, the world crashing down as I plummet to the ground.

I sit upright in bed, my chest heaving.  The bed is soaked and my face quivers.  I bring my one leg up to my chest and before I can stop I'm sobbing.  The bed shifts and I know it's Al.  He's either been up or he's up now because I'm crying.

"Ed, it's okay," he says gently.  I keep crying and I shake my head like a stubborn child.  I know I'm loud but I can't help it.  No matter what I do or how much better I get,  _she_ always finds me.  One way or another,  _she_ always finds me.  "Brother," Al says, his hand petting my hair, "It's okay.  That scary stuff's gone now and you're safe."  I nod miserably, the words drying up in my throat.  Those bubbles are back, preventing me from saying much of anything.  I do latch on to Al, though, crying into his shoulder as he rubs my back.

"You boys okay?" Granny whispers from the door.  I didn't hear the door open and my face gets hot.

"Brother wet the bed," Al explains, still rubbing my back. "He had a bad dream."  I can't see Granny but I bet she's got that sympathetic look on her face - that look everyone gets when they hear "Ed had a bad dream" or "Ed had another panic attack" or "Ed wet the bed again".  I hate that look.

"All right," she says.  I can hear her footsteps and I know she's standing nearby now.  Her hand rests on my sweaty head and she says, "It's all right, Ed.  You're safe.  You're not in trouble.  You know that."  I nod.  I do.  I do know that.  But my heart is telling me that I'm not.

"Granny," Al says with a note of panic in his voice, "Granny, it was an accident.  He didn't mean it."

"Al, I know that," she assures him. "He's not in any trouble, I promise."

"It was an accident!" Al says loudly and I know his mind has pulled him away.  He's not seeing Granny, he's seeing  _her_ and I know he must of had a bad dream, too.  I was probably just asleep during it.  He shakes his head and holds me closer to his body.  "He didn't mean to!  It was an accident!"

"Alphonse," Granny says softly and I briefly scoff at my brother's name.  Family name.  You know; stupid, but has to be passed down.  "Ally," Granny coos into the tense night, "It's alright.  I know it was an accident."  His hands dig deeper into my pajamas, his whole body shaking.

"Granny," I say, somehow managing to speak around the bubbles in my throat, "I can clean it up."

"Where's your leg, Ed?" She asks, not responding to my statement.

"By the bed," I say, my voice cracking.  I shake my head and say, "I'm really sorry, Granny.  I didn't mean to.  I'm sorry."

"Hey," she soothes, "It's really okay, honey.  I'm not going to make you clean it up.  I just want you and your brother to get some dry clothes on."  I nod and reluctantly let go of Al.  He's calmer than he was so he doesn't freak out when the hug ends.  I lean over and grab my prosthetic, securing it before I stand.  Instantly Al is beside me, his hand in mine and Chico in the other.  Granny moves to clean up so Al and I get clean clothes out of our bags.  I'm really embarrassed and I hope from the bottom of my heart that Winry didn't hear me.  I talk in my sleep and then I cried like a baby after the dream was over.  I really hope she didn't hear.  Al and I take turns in the bathroom, throwing our clothes down the laundry chute.  We walk back to our room and Granny's already done putting fresh sheets on.  She looks at me and smiles.

"Should I call your dad?" She asks gently.  I shake my head and she says, "If you're sure.  Ed, your blanket is wet.  Want me to put it in the laundry?"  Instantly I shake my head.

"No," I say, "I can't sleep without it."

"Do you have your lamb?" She asks.  I blush.  Of course I have him.  I never leave home without him.  Not that anyone knows that.

"Yeah," I say quietly. 

"Then sleep with it so I can wash your blanket," Granny tells me.  I nod and get Lamby out.  Lamby's the first stuffed animal I ever got.  Mom gave him to me when I was a baby.  I don't remember getting him.  Chico is to Al what Lamby is to me.  A reminder that Mom was here and that she did love us.  A promise that as long as I have him, I'm safe.  He's as worn as Chico, his ears thing from years of sucking on them.  Al gets into bed and I craw in after him.  Granny wishes us both good night and leaves.

"What was it?" Al asks softly. 

"The fence," I say.  The fence that I tried so desperately to climb when I was ten.  The fence that took my leg away from me.

"Again?" Al asks.

"Yeah," I answer, "You?"

"The trunk," he replies.  One time  _she_ smashed his fingers in the trunk of  _her_ car before shoving him inside.  He was in there for two whole days.

"Again?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "I can't run from it."

"Me either," I say.  We can't run from it.  Neither of us ever will.  Dr. Hughes says it's part of us, whether we like it or not.  Running from it won't make us better or make it disappear.  That's what he always says.  But running is easier than facing it.  Facing it is scary.  It gives us nightmares and sends us into panic attacks.  I wish I could run from it.  But I can't.  And nothing I do will ever change that.

The following morning is quiet.  Winry doesn't say it, but I know she knows what happened.  I don't think she'll invite us over to stay the night for a while.  Al plays with his food and so do I.  I can never eat after I have a version of the fence dream.  That one's really common.  I also dream about That Night and a few other specific events.  Dr. Hughes says the things we dream about the most are the things that traumatized us the most.  I'd believe it.  That Night is when it all started and the fence is what cost me my leg.  It makes sense that those things would be what I dream about the most.  Granny tries to get us to eat but we refuse.  I'm just not hungry and neither is Al.  So she makes us a lunch to bring with us and drives us all to school.  Winry sits in the front, never speaking.  Al and I talk with our eyes.  He asks if I think Winry will acknowledge what happened.  I tell him that I don't know.  I hope she doesn't.  It's embarrassing enough that it happened at all.  I don't need her talking about it on top of it all.

"Hey, guys," she says when we're a couple of minutes away from school.  I swallow nervously.  Here it comes.  Some huge speech about how no matter what we're friends; blah, blah, blah.  I wonder how she'll say the same shit people always say when they're trying to tip-toe around us.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Well, it's just I had a really good time playing with last night," she says, a sad smile on her face. "It reminded me of when we were kids.  You know, before everything started.  We should do it again soon."  That's not what I was expecting.  I didn't think she'd extend an invitation to sleep over again for a while.  I thought having her big cry baby friends over was a downer for her.  But it wasn't.  I was wrong.  And the bubbles keep me from saying anything to her in response.

"I had fun, too," Al says, a smile on his face. "And the game's not as scary as I thought it'd be."

"Yeah," Winry laughs. " _Bioshock_ or  _The Walking Dead_ are way worse."  Al laughs and I know what he's going to say.

"I like two player games," he says, "Like  _Mario Kart_ and the  _LEGO_ games."  I know that sentence so well, I almost say it along with him.

"Boys," Granny addresses. "Your father called this morning."  My heart sinks, fearing he's going away like he did when we were kids.  He doesn't go on trips anymore.  Not very often, anyway, and never for very long.  The longest he's been gone for since the abuse ended was a weekend.  One long, miserable weekend at Granny's.

"Is he going away?" Al asks, panic rising in his voice.

"No," Granny says and we both sigh at the same time. "But he's working late so I'll pick you up from school."  We nod.

"Okay," we say together.  The car makes it to school and Granny smiles warmly at all of us as we get out.

"Have a good one, kids," she says.

"Thanks, Gran," Winry replies, kissing Granny's cheek.

"Bye, Granny," Al says.  I have bubbles in my throat like I usually do when I'm at school so I just smile.  She smiles back as I get out of the car and pulls away.

"What's on the agenda today?" Winry asks cheerfully.

"Nothing," Al answers, walking toward school. "Oh, I do have gym today."  Winry grimaces.

"You up to it?" She asks.  Al takes a shaky breath and shakes his head.

"Not really," he replies. "But I have to."

"Al!"

We all turn and smile as Mei comes running over.  Mei's a twelve-year-old kid in Al's math class.  Al's in calculus II, something most people don't take until they're juniors or seniors.  But they're both in their 'cause they're smart.  Mei's, like, a genius or something.  I think that's funny 'cause her older brother, Ling, who's my age is a moron.  Anyway, Mei really seems to like Al.  Since the school year started, she's been trying to find ways to spend more time with him.  She probably has a crush on him, but Al's clueless about that stuff.

"Hi," Al chirps.  Mei grins broadly at him and I can't help but think about how Mei doesn't know.  There's only a few people at school who know.  The principal knows, the nurse knows, and our guidance counselor knows.  That's it.  No one else but Winry knows about it at school.  It's nice to talk to people who don't know what happened.  We aren't made of glass to them.  They don't act like they don't have to avoid stepping on toes.  They are purely inhibited and that means we can be, too.  Mei makes it over to us and fidgets on her feet.

"How are you?" She asks, her voice bubbly and perky like always.

"Fine," Al says. "You?"

"Great!" She cries. "Remember how I told you a couple of weeks ago that the county shelter was in danger of closing?"

"Yeah," Al says.

"Well, it's staying open!" Mei announces.  We all clap or something, happy that the shelter is okay.  The shelter is a tiny little run down thing on the edge of town.  Mei got her cat there so that little place means a lot to her.  She and Ling have been working hard to keep it open with the help of their dad.  He's rich.  I don't know.

"That's great!" Al cries happily.

"So," she begins, "It needs volunteers and I was thinking that maybe we could, I don't know, volunteer one day a week together."  Al freezes briefly the idea of being out in the open for so long freezing his brain.

"Al does like cats," Winry comments, trying to defuse whatever might happen as Al stares blankly off into the distance.

"It might be fun," I add, my brother glancing over at me.  His eyes tell me that he wants to volunteer but his heart his holding him back.  He's scared.  So, I tell him with my eyes to tell her maybe.

"I'll think about it," Al finally says.

"Great," Mei says happily.  The first bell rings, indicating that we have five minutes before class.  "C'mon!  Let's get to calc!"  Mei darts off and I shake my head.

"You handled that well," I tell him, Al reaching for his backpack.  He strokes the side of it and nods.

"Mm," he hums. "Yeah, I guess.  I didn't throw up or start crying so, yeah, I guess that's well for me."  We walk inside with Winry, Mei bouncing at the top of the stairs, waiting for us as we walk up the brief flight of stairs.

"Seriously, Al," Winry says, "We're proud of you."  Al brushes.  He loves hearing that.  He really does.  But he also doesn't like to be put on the spot.

"Aw, c'mon," he complains, his cheeks tinted pink.  "It's not that big of a deal.  I can talk to people know.  It's nothing."  But it is.  It is something.  Al was in sixth grade (It was the end of the school year) when  _she_ got arrested.  Back then, he could barely talk to me let alone a kid at school.  He hid in this hard shell of silence and the kids whispered behind his back at school.  It made him so anxious that he actually had to be home-schooled the whole first semester of seventh grade.  That's how bad his anxiety was.  So, yeah; talking to Mei and telling her that he might want to volunteer at the shelter is a big deal.  It is to us, anyway, because to us it's a glimpse of an Alphonse we thought was long dead.  We walk to Al's class and I give him a brief hug.  People look at us funny but I don't care what they think.  Al's anxious, I can tell, so I give him a hug.

"See you at lunch," I tell him.  He chuckles and nods, his arms holding me tight 'cause I know he doesn't want to let go.

"Yeah," he agrees, letting go.  Mei giggles at us.

"You guys are so close," she comments. "I sometimes wish me and Ling were like that."  I grin at her.

"You could be, I think" I tell her.  Mei stares up at me and I go on, "Ling's your brother so he'll be there for you when no one else will be sometimes.  Make sure you tell each other how much you mean to each other and I bet you'll get closer."

"Ed, you're so sappy," she teases, her arm wrapping around Al's arm.  He tenses briefly, forgetting it's Mei touching him before relaxing.

"My brother, the softie," he adds, a smile on his face.

"Shut up," I say lightly.

"C'mon, Ed," Winry says. "We have two minutes."

"Right," I say. "Bye, guys."  Al waves as Mei drags him into class.

"Bye, Brother," he calls, "Bye, Winry!"  Winry and I walk to our class, English, and she turns to look at me.

"Are you okay?" She asks.  I take a step back, realizing she's talking about last night.  I shake my head.

"I'm peachy," I say.

"Are you sure?" She presses worriedly.

"Yeah," I snap. "Shut up, okay?  I'm fine!"  Winry recoils.

"Sorry," she says sadly. "Just trying to help."  I sigh.  I shouldn't yell at her.  I know she means well, even if it rubs me the wrong way.

"I know," I tell her, walking inside the classroom. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"Okay," she says, sitting down. "Just remember I'm here for you."  I nod and sit next to her.  I know she's here for me.  I know she cares, cares more than almost anyone I know.  And even thought it's annoying sometimes, there are mornings like today where it makes me feel like I'm the luckiest guy ever.


	3. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed hates high school. Who knew?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's the next chapter! A big thanks to everyone who's commented, bookmarked and read this little story of mine. It means a lot! One more thing before the chapter - there are descriptions of panic attacks in this one. If that makes you uncomfortable, it's probably best to skip this chapter. I don't want to make anyone feel comfortable without some kind of heads up. Enjoy!

My morning classes are nearly over as my stomach begins growling.  Hunger is something I'm used to.  Whenever Dad'd leave for more than a few days,  _she_ wouldn't feed us.  I'm used to the nasty sounds and dull pains.  It's been two years since those dull pains have been unbearable.  I guess I'm lucky  _she_ got caught.  I don't know how much longer Al and I could have survived.  I sit through history, bored as ever, when the phone rings.  The teacher pauses her lecture and walks to the phone, picking it up.  Instantly, kids start chattering softly.  A soft murmur as kids talk about the football game or whatever the latest gossip is.  I don't keep up with that crap.  It doesn't matter.  That gossip of "he said, she said" is complete garbage now and will be garbage after we graduate.  There's no need for it, I think.  I don't spread rumors because I know how awful it is to have people talk behind your back.  I know what it's like to have their eyes stuck on you, watching you to see if what people are saying is true.  I guard my secrets now; I only talk to people I consider friends and they're few and far between.  I don't go to parties, I don't go to football games, and dances are cheesy as hell.  I guess I'm just waiting for high school to end.  I don't know.

"Edward," the teacher calls, "Come here, please."  I look up and see she's still on the phone.  The class gawks loudly at me as I walk to the desk.

"What's up?" I ask, my heartbeat increasing.  I hate one-on-one conversations, especially with grown-ups.  It reminds me of  _her_ ; how  _she'd_ talk to me before beating me right in front of Al before moving on to him.

"Your brother is...." She trails off, my heart pounding harder.

"My brother is what?" I ask hurriedly, the bubbles trying to force my words away. "What's wrong?"

"He's having some kind of panic attack," she explains in a low voice.  I guess she doesn't want the class to hear what's happening.  Everyone in school knows who my little brother is so if they hear my brother is freaking out, they talk about it.  "Coach Evans called because he's not sure what to do.  The office is trying to get a hold of your father."

"Okay," I say, turning to leave.

"Where are you going?" She demands.

"To the gym," I respond.  The class watches as the teacher stands at her desk with the phone while staring at me.

"Ed, she begins, "You can't just leave in the middle of class without a pass.  Sit down."

"No," I argue. "I'll try to make it back.  You can write me up if you want."  I walk out of the class, the kids in an uproar.  They've never seen me be rude to anyone before.  I'm kind of quiet, those bubbles forcing me to stay silent even though I have things to say.  But they just heard my voice so they're pumped up now.  Now they'll wounder what I'll do next.  I leave the room, not caring if the teacher writes me up or not.  I'll gladly go to the principal's office for Al.  He'd do the same for me.

I hurry to the gym and have to push passed a big crowd of people.  They've congregated around the gym doors, but are clearly unsure of what's happening.  I open the heavy doors and scan the gym.  I can't see Al but I do spot Ling.  I hurry over, Ling noticing me.  Ling can get pretty annoying.  He's obnoxious and loud and pretty much everything I find annoying in a person.  But he's my friend I guess.  Next to him is Rose, a girl I've known since third grade.  She looks over at me, clearly confused as to why I'm here.  I make it over, the two of them staring at me before Ling gestures to a closet with his head.

"He's been in there for almost fifteen minutes," he tells me.

"No one can get him to come out," Rose explains worriedly.

"What set him off?" I ask.

"I'm not entirely sure," Rose answers. "I missed it.  Class was totally normal until Al started panicking."

"I saw what happened," Ling says.

"Well," I demand.

"Some senior was bullying him," Ling explains. "We were playing basketball and Al was moving kinda slow and heavy on his feet.  You know how Al can move sometimes.  He's just not a sporty kid.  Like, he plays fine but he's kinds slow in comparison to everyone else.  Anyways, he accidentally stepped on someone's foot and instantly apologized.  But this kid wasn't having it.  He yelled at Al and the coach told the kid to stop.  The game went on but I could tell something was wrong with Al.  Every once in a while the senior would lunge at him or yell and Al wasn't handling it well at all.  Finally, after Al got a foul, the senior shoved him and that was it."  I cross my arms and huff angrily.

"Great," I mumble. "Who was it?"

"Ryan Vaus," Ling says. "He's over there."  I look and see him standing a few feet away, laughing obnoxiously with his friends.  He's a douche bag who's been bullying Al since Al was in kindergarten.  Ryan's pretty dumb, so I doubt his tiny brain can remember that the little kid he made cry all time is my baby brother.  I stomp over, my chest heaving.  No one treats Al that way.  _No one_.  Back then, I couldn't protect him.  I was weak and couldn't stop  _her_ from yelling at him, beating him, and locking him in closets.  But I'm older now.  I'm not gonna let anyone push Al around, not even football-star-raging-douche-bag Ryan Vaus.

"Hey!" I call. "Douche bag!"  The kids standing around Ryan turn my way, staring at me.  They soon recognize me, though, and snicker as I stomp over.

"If it isn't the other Elric," he greets. "How ya' doin', Eddy?"  I glare at him, stopping a few inches in front of him.

"What the hell, man?!" I cry. "Al said he was sorry!  What the hell's wrong with you?!"  The coach moves from his position near the closet Al's hiding in and begins walking over as I start yelling.

"He stomped on my foot," Ryan defends, crossing his arms.

"So?!" I yell. "It was an accident!  I didn't mean to!"  I shove Ryan and say, "If you want to pick a fight with someone, fight me!"  Ryan scoffs.

"Why the hell would I fight a kid with a fake leg?" He taunts. "You're a cripple - it'd be too easy with no fun."  I glare at him.

"I can fight with a prosthetic," I tell him angrily. "And I can guarantee that I'm much better than you."  Ryan rolls his eyes and groans.

"Why does this matter so much to you?" He questions, clearly annoyed. "So I roughed him up a bit; big deal.  Kids needs to toughen up.  He's too soft.  I mean, can you blame me?  It's so easy to pick on that kid!"  That's _it_.  I throw myself at him, crying out angrily.  He falls to the floor and we wrestle a bit.  I don't let anyone talk about Al that way.  Our limbs get tangled up painfully and neither of us are really able to fight properly.  He pulls my hair and suddenly, I'm not in school.  I'm fighting  _her,_ Al crying in the corner and hiding his face.  My body stops moving and Ryan shoves me off him.  He kicks me once, the coach screaming at us to stop.  I painfully sit up, my side aching as Ryan stares at me.

"What the hell?!" He cries angrily.

"You have no idea what Al's been through!" I roar. "You don't know the shit we've seen!"  Angry tears prick in the back of my eyes and I know there's nothing I can do to stop them.  They start to fall, my whole face quivering.  "Al's been through hell!  I've been through hell!  You have no idea what life's been like for us!"  I stand up, Ryan watching me carefully as I continue to explode;  "If you ever lay a  _finger_ on my little brother again, you'll regret it!"  I angrily push passed the coach who's yelling at me, demanding that I go to the principal's office.  And I'll go- just as soon as I make sure Al's okay.  I make it to the closet and sit cross-legged in front of it.

"Al," I say gently. "Al, it's Brother.  It's okay."  Al whimpers from within the closet.

"I-I can't b-breathe," he gasps.

"Sure you can," I say.  Footsteps approach from behind me and I know the whole class is watching me.  But I don't care.  This isn't about them.  It's about me and Al.  They melt away as I sit and talk gently to my baby brother.  "In and out, Al," I instruct. "In through your nose and out through your mouth."  I can hear Al's ragged breathing, coughing as he continues crying.  He struggles to breathe, wailing loudly as he can't seem to get it right.

"It's okay now, Brother," I tell him. "That scary stuff's gone and you're okay."

" _She's_ coming for me!" Al cries fearfully. " _She's_ gonna find me!  I can be good!"

"Al, it's okay," I say again. "Just breathe, okay?  Focus on my voice and breathe.  It's going to be okay."  The room is dead silent now as Al struggles to breathe.  He slowly gets it right, crying loudly from within the closet.

"Can I come in?" I ask.  A pause.  Everyone watches - waits to see if I can get him to come out.

"Yeah," he says pathetically.  I hear the door click and I open the door.  Before I go in I turn to the class.

"Don't follow me," I tell them before walking inside.  It smells like puke in the closet, Al sitting up against the wall.  He's hugging his knees to his chest, puke soaking his clothes.  I walk over to him and sigh, sliding down the wall.  I sit down next to him, Al pathetically sniffling as I pat his arm.

"We're a mess, huh, Al?" I say darkly.  Al nods, his lip trembling as he fights off tears.  "It's not your fault, you know.  It's  _hers_.   _She_ did this to you."  Al nods again.

"I'm sorry, Brother," he says miserably.  A few tears roll down his face and he says, "I can't do anything right, can I?"

"That's not true," I say. "You're super nice and you're good at math.  You're good at video games and you're the best puzzle maker I've ever had the pleasure of watching."  Al grins weakly and I know I've got him.

"I guess," he says softly, his eyes not meeting mine. "I threw up."

"I know," I tell him. "It's okay."  He does that a lot.  Whenever he goes into full panic mode, his body freaks out.  He throws up, he pees, he collapses on the ground.  His lungs forget how to breathe and his heart goes wild.  His panic attacks are a grand show.  They're dramatic and they're drawn out like a play.  Mine are almost completely silent.  Mine are the walls closing in and my throat closing up.  I cry, yell, throw up, and even pee, too, but those parts are over much quicker for me.  Together we make a full play; I'm act one and he's the final two acts.  Put us together and we're quite the freak show.

"Why?" He asks pathetically, tears running down his face. "Why can't I just be normal?  Why can't I just be Al?"  He buries his face in his knees and I feel a rush of hatred toward  _her_.   _She_ did this to him, to me.   _She_ made us scared all the time;  _she_ made us into different people.  We hate who we are and we want to be the boys that hang out with Winry and laugh with Dada.  We want to be the boys who tell stories and can sleep at night.  We want to be the people we would have been if  _she_ never came into our lives.  Dr. Hughes says we're getting there, but it's days like these that make me scared we never will.

"Hey," I say gently. "You're getting better.  You are.  So am I, I think.  It's just not your day today."  Al wipes his face.

"Yeah," Al agrees. "The worst day.  I guess the trunk dream really got to me.  I didn't realize it until now."

"That and Ryan's a douche," I say.  Al laughs weakly so I continue, "Seriously, what is wrong with that guy?"

"I hope you didn't do anything to get in trouble," he says.  I shrug.

"Eh," I dismiss. "I only tackled him."

" _Brother,_ " he sighs. "You can't do that.  Dada doesn't want you fighting in school."

"Yeah, but look at what he did to you," I argue gently. "I can't just stand by and let people push you around or send you into panic attacks.  You're my brother and it's my job to keep you safe."  Al smiles weakly.

"I know," he says. "I try not to let people push you around, either."

"I know, Ally," I tell him.  I sigh and ruffle his hair. "Ready to get out?"

"Yeah," I say, standing. "I'll clear the crowd, don't worry."  Al nods and I open the door.  I quickly shut it again, everyone staring at me.  I turn to the coach and say, "Can we get everyone out of her, please?  Al doesn't want people staring at him."

"You need to get to the principal, Elric," the coach.  I stare blankly at him.

"And I will once Al is okay," I tell him. "I'll go, promise, but right now all I care about him.  So can you please send this crowd away?"  The coach is still for a moment before he nods.

"Yeah, okay," he says, turning away. "Okay, guys!  Everyone except Ryan needs to go to the lower gym!"

" _What?!_ " Ryan exclaims, obviously outraged.

"You instigated this whole incident, Ryan," the coach says. "You'll be visiting the vice principal.  Already have a pass made up for you."  I snicker, Ryan glaring at me.  He rips the paper from the coach's hand and stomps off.  The coach turns to me and asks, "How is he?"

"Fine now," I tell him. "He just doesn't want people staring at him."

"I understand," he says. "I didn't realize he had severe anxiety.  I figured the school would inform me."

"It's not anxiety, not really," I say grimly. "It's worse."  The coach doesn't reply and reminds me to go to the principal.  I nod and watch him leave.  Everyone's gone and I take my hoodie off.  I open the door and throw my hoodie at Al.  Without me telling him he puts it on to cover up the barf on his shirt and walks over to me.  He grabs my hand and we walk out of the gym.  I head to the office, knowing that until Dada comes to pick him up, Al won't leave my side.  We get to the office and Al's stuff is in here already.  Ryan is sulking nearby, Al whimpering at the sight of him.  I squeeze his hand gently, reminding him that I'm here.  If Ryan tries anything, I'll protect him.

"Ed," the secretary says, "Your father's on the line."  I nod and walk over.  Al stands close to me, his whole body shaking and I take the phone.

"Hey, Dada," I say wearily. 

"Ed!" He cries. "I heard you got in a fight and Al's having a panic attack!  Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," I say. "Al's fine now.  And I just tackled the douche that sent him into the attack.  No big deal."

"Ed," he sighs, disappointment in his voice, "I know you were just trying to look after Al but you shouldn't fight."

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry."  I pause and say, "Wanna talk to Al?"

"Sure," Dad says.  I pass the phone over and I can just barely hear Dada saying, "Hey, baby."

"Dada," Al says, his voice cracking. "I wanna go home."  I stare at Ryan who's snickering.

"Problem?" I question sharply.  Ryan makes a face at me so I flip him off.  I'm already in trouble so what the hell?  Al's quickly breaking down again, the secretary watching worriedly as Al cries into the phone.  She's probably never seen a fourteen-year-old boy cry in school the way Al is.  But Al's still scared and he wants to go home.  I want to go home, too, so I can be near him.  I don't feel right unless Al's near me.  Dr. Hughes says that's normal since he was my only source of comfort during the abuse but I can tell he worries we're too codependent.  Oh well.

"Okay, Daddy," Al croaks.  Al lightly nudges me and I take the receiver back.

"I'm coming to pick you up," Dada tells me. "I'll buy you both some lunch but you'll have to stay home by yourselves until I get off work.  Will you two be okay?"

"We'll be fine, Dada.  We're not babies." I tell him.

"I know," he replies. "See you soon, Ed.  Love you."

"Love you, too," I reply.  He hangs up and I hand the receiver back to the secretary.  Al wipes his face with his hands, Ryan staring at him.

"Edward Elric."

The principal calls me so I walk toward her office.  Al comes with me, grabbing his backpack as we go.  The principal is waiting by the door, her back up against the door frame.  She's officer Mustang's financé.  She used to be a social worker.  Don't know why she stopped doing it.  There's this gentleness to her eyes and I like it.  She smiles warmly at Al, my shaking mess of a brother, and invites him to sit.  He does, immediately pulling Chico out of his backpack so he can finally calm down.  I sit net to him, still holding his hand.

"Well, she says,  "This is a surprise.  You've only had a few minor incidents in school since you started.  To have you in my office for fighting is a shock."

"Ms. Hawkeye," I begin. "I'm sorry.  It's just... when I heard he did this to Al I got so mad.  I had to do  _something_.  I only thought I'd yell at him but my anger got the best of me.  I'm sorry."

"I know you are," Ms. Hawkeye tells me and I can tell by her tone that I'm in trouble. "But we have zero tolerance for fighting.  You know that, Ed."

"I know," I say, fear crawling up in me and forming bubbles in my throat.

"But," she continues, "I also know what happened between Ryan and Alphonse.  What Ryan did was inexcusable and he will be punished.  Ed, I'll give you detention tomorrow afternoon as punishment for tackling him."

"He can't," Al says softly. 

"Why not, Al?" Ms. Hawkeye asks gently.  Al swallows and I can tell he's scared she'll hit me.  I'm scared of that, too.

"We....  We have therapy tomorrow afternoon," Al tells her. "Brother can't miss it."

"Oh," she says. "What days next week are you free to serve the detention, Ed?"

"Uh," I struggle, the bubbles pushing up against my throat and making it hard to speak. "Tuesday's good.  Mondays and Fridays are therapy days."

"Then you'll serve the detention Tuesday after school," Ms. Hawkeye says, entering it in her computer.  I watch her type, words rising up in me like puke.  I want to swallow them, prevent the inevitable word vomit, but know deep down there's nothing I can do to prevent it.

"What's detention like?" I blurt, despite my best efforts, "I've never hand one before."  My hands are shaking and I'm word vomiting.  I do that when I'm nervous.  It's like how Al and me sometimes throw up when we're nervous except sometimes I puke with words.  "Is this going to show up on my transcript?  I'm sorry I fought, really!  Do they hit you in detention?  Can I still be in the advanced science program?  Are you going to kick me out of science club?  I'm really sorry!  I can do community service if you want me to!"

"Calm down, Edward," she says with a steady voice.  It calms me down a bit, my tongue sliding over my lips.  "It won't appear on your transcript and I can promise you that no one will hit you.  You'll just sit in a room for an hour and do homework.  That's all, I promise."

"Okay," I say, not convinced but at least the word vomit has stopped.  She smiles at me and Al squeezes my hand again.

"It'll be okay, Ed," Ms. Hakweye says gently.  The phone on her desk rings and I guess it's the secretary calling her to tell her Dada's here.  She answers and says "send him in" and I know I'm right.  She lowers the phone and Al starts whimpering.  He wants to see Dad, I know he does, but he's nervous.  There's an ever present fear - we both feel it - that Dada will get mad when he sees us.  That he'll fly into an uncontrollable rage and beat us like  _she_ would.  Even though we know with everything that we are that would never happen we shake and whimper and cry because we're scared.  I wish we wouldn't be.  And maybe someday, we won't be.  But right now it feels like we'll always be scared.  The door opens and Al instantly stands.  He hurries over and wraps his gangly limbs around Dada.  Al starts bawling and Dad shuts the door.  He pets Al's hair, my baby brother crying pathetically into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Dada!" He wails, Dada whispering softly to him to get him to calm down.  I stand up, walking over to greet Dad.

"Hey," I say.  Dada glances over Al's blond head and smiles weakly at me.

"What's the damage?" He asks.  I know he's asking both what happened to Al to make him so panicky and what Ms. Hawkeye did to me since I fought in school.

"Ryan Vaus," I say simply, Dada groaning.

"That kid again?" He asks. "He's been giving you boys trouble for years."  I nod.

"Yeah," I reply. "So, Al's in gym, right?"  And they're playing basketball and he and Vaus are on the same team.  Al's kinda sporty but he's also kinda heavy on his feet and he accidentally steps on Vaus' foot.  So, Vaus goes completely nuts and starts lunging at him and yelling at him and just generally doing things that freak Al out.  So, eventually he shoves Al and I'm not sure on all the details but I'm guessing that Al started freaking out then.  Ally didn't have an accident this time, but he did throw up and hid in a closet for a while"

"Ed," Ms. Hawkeye addresses.  I turn around and she's on the phone again.  "Is it true that you walked out of history class?"  I cringe.  I forgot all about that.  I never got back to class and forgot that my teacher threatened to write me up.

"Uh, yeah," I say nervously.  Her brows point downward and I start to panic.  "B-But, Al!  Al n-needed me!  I was g-gonna go b-back, really!"

"But you got in a fight instead," she says and I feel tears pricking in my eyes as the bubble sin my throat come back.

"I-I, uh," I stammer, her brown eyes staring right through me.  Dad's staring at me, too, Al quieting down as the whole world tilts underneath my feet.  I back up, my back bumping the wall as my heart beats wildly.  "I-I'm so-sorry," I manage to say, sliding down the wall.  My breath gets caught in my chest and my whole body's shaking.  My brain can only thing of one thing -  _fear_.  I'm scared.  They're going to hurt me!  I just know it!  I wheeze loudly, my fingers pulling at my hair.

"Brother," Al says gently. I didn't see him walk over and his voice does little to calm me down.  "Breathe, Ed.  You can do it."  I try, but my lungs don't respond.  A strangled gasp escapes, my body tense as I try to breathe.  But I can't.  I just can't!  It's like I'm trapped under water.  There's this pressure on my chest, making it impossible for it to move so air can get through.

"Edward."  That's Dada.  I look up at him and he smiles at me.  "It's okay, Ed.  It's okay."  He hesitantly reaches a hand toward me and it makes contact with my head.  I flinch at first, but once I realize he's not going to hit me I relax.  Al sits next to me and takes one of my hands in his.  Dada pets my hair, talking softly to me like he does after a bad dream.  It's like I'm little again and he's holding me tight.  I wish he could hold me like I was a little baby.  I wish he could.  I wish he could.  But he can't.

"You're doing so good, Brother," Al encourages gently. "You're breathing, see?  I knew you could."  Al's so good at being gentle.  He always has been.  He's too nice for his own good sometimes.  Al squeezes my hand and I squeeze his back.  I can breathe.  My lungs are working again.  I've come out of the water and my lungs are working again.  I look up at Ms. Hawkeye and wipe my face so there aren't tears on it anymore.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I know I shouldn't have left but Al needed me.  He was scared and needed me to help.  I'm sorry."  She shakes her head and rubs her forehead.

"I know," she says. "But I have to give you another detention."  My heart stalls.

"B-But...." I struggle, the bubbles trying to keep me from talking. "I helped.  I got Al out of the closet!"

"Yes, but you were insubordinate," Ms. Hawkeye tells me. "That isn't tolerated, Ed."  I shake my head.

"But I helped!" I argue, probably a little louder than I should. "Al needed me and I helped!"

"You should have stayed in class," she insists.

"If I didn't do it, nobody would!" I cry. "No one can help Al like I can!  Nobody knows Al like I do!  If I wouldn't have left class, he'd still be in the damn closet!"

"Ed, calm down," Dada says gently.  My lip quivers even though I don't want to cry again.  I've already had a panic attack and cried in front of Ms. Hawkeye.  I don't want to cry again.  Ms. Hawkeye sighs and shakes her head.

"All right," she says. "You're off the hook for leaving history.  But if it happens again, Edward, I'll have to punish you."  I release a huge sigh.

"Okay," I say. "Thanks, Ms. Hawkeye."  She smiles at me.

"It's no problem, Ed," she replies. "I can't bring myself to punish you for helping your brother.  You two are quite the team."  I grin - we sure are.

"You know it," I reply, Al laughing happily beside me. "We're the best team there ever was."

"Can I take them home now?" Dada asks.  Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"Of course," she answers. "Just sign them out and they're good to go."

"What about my stuff," I ask.

"Winry brought it up for you," Ms. Hawkeye explains. "It's with the secretary.  You're good to go, boys."

"Thanks again, Ms. Hawkeye," I say. "It means a lot that you've been so nice to me and Al."  She nods.

"I know it does," she tells me. "I used to work with kids like you on a daily basis.  I know that when you say that nobody can help your brother like you can, it's true."

"Dada, let's go home," Al says, his voice hoarse from all the crying and throwing up he's done today.

"All right," Dada says, turning to me. "You hungry, Brother?"

"Yeah," I answer, walking over.  I pat Dad's arm and say, "I'm up for anything."

"Let's do something quick so your brother can take a nap," Dad laughs softly, smiling as Al rubs his eyes like he did when he was little. "I think Ally needs one."

"Oh, I do," Al confirms wearily. "I'm beat."  We walk to the office and I see my backpack sitting on a chair.  I pick it up, smiling when I see Wirny put a note on it.  It's just a smiley face on a post-it note but it meas a lot to me.  I take it off my backpack, put my backpack on, and take Al's hand.  I'm holding the note in the other hand and show it to Al as we walk out.  I like little things like that.  I like Hershey's Kisses or sticky notes with silly things on them.  So does Al.  It's simple things that really remind us that people love us.

We drive to Subway and get sandwiches.  Al and I stay in the car after telling Dada what we want and listen to stupid songs on the radio.  Dad left his phone and we plug it into the AUX cord so we can pull stupid videos up on YouTube.  We laugh at all the funny videos until Dad comes back.  On our way home we listen to crappy hip-hop and that helps calm us both down.  Dada does impressions of the shitty singing and it makes us laugh.  We get home, Dad grumbling that the house is messy.  Dad has a hard time keeping up with it.  There's a lot of clutter, especially on the table.  We go to the dining room and shove papers, books, and newspapers aside so we can eat.  Dada can't eat with us so he kisses us and leaves.  I sigh, unwrapping my sandwich while Al just stares off into space.

"You okay?" I ask.

"I, uh, wanna go change," Al says.

"Okay," I say. "Need me to go with you?" My brother shakes his head.

"I don't think so," he replies. "I wanna change."

"It's okay, Al," I say, detecting a hint of panic in his voice.

"I know," he says, turning to look at me.  He grins briefly and says, "I just wanna change."

"Make sure you come back so you can eat," I say. "I can make you some chocolate milk if you want."  Al shakes his head.

"Juice," he tells me with a weak smile. "I want juice.  I'll be back, Ed."  I nod and get up.  I search through the cabinets, grinning when I see Al's cup.  There's this cup Al likes best.  It's got, like, two parts.  An outer cup with an inner cup with water in between them.  There's little fish in the water and if you shake it, they swim around.  When he was little, he'd shake the cup, forgetting there was stuff inside.  His drink would slosh around, spilling over the sides.  Mom would giggle at him, tickle him, and call him her silly boy.  I shake the cup, tears welling up in my eyes.  The fish swirl around and I can hear Al's happy laughter in my head.  I blink rapidly, tears rolling down my face.  Sometimes, it's hard.  Things used to be so good.  We used to be happy little kids.  Now, we're broken; broken glass.  We were hit one too many times and just shattered.  It's all because of  _her_.  I sniffle loudly, wiping tears away.  I place the cup down and fill it with juice, setting it down on the table for Al.

"Ed?  Are you okay?" Al asks, coming back in.  He's in pajamas, Chico tucked under his arm.  I smile but shake my head.

"No," I say. "But I will be, I think."  I pick my sandwich up and take a bite, Al sitting down beside me.  Chico sits on his lap, and Al picks his cup up.  He gently twirls it, the fish lifting slightly and floating gently around the cup.  He giggles softly and suddenly I feel better.  Al can still laugh.  He can still be silly.  And for some reason, that makes me feel better.

"Thank you, Brother," he says, sitting the cup down.  I swallow my food and nod.

"Yeah," I reply. "You know what?"  Al takes a bite and swallows before shaking his head.

"No," he says, "What?"

"I need a nap, too," I tell him. "I think I'll join you if that's okay."  Al grins and nods.

"Sure," he says. "You know I don't mind.  I could use the company, honestly."  He holds up his hand up to me and I see it has a constant tremor.  Not that him shaking is all that unusual, but it's more violent that usual.  "My hands haven't stopped shaking since it all happened."

"So, you're still scared, then," I comment.  He nods and I say, "Don't worry.  I'll keep you safe."  Al grins and takes another bite.  We eat in blissful silence, only talking with our eyes until we go to take a nap.

We nap for an hour or so before I get up.  Al's still napping so I walk down stairs.  I do some homework before I decide I'm bored.  Part of me wants to play video games but the other part of me wants to try to write.  Dr. Hughes told me yesterday that I should try to write my story for people to read.  I've never tried writing before.  I mean, I've written papers and things but I've never actually written a story before.  I grab the family laptop (Dada has his own so me and Al share) and open it.  The bright screen hurts my eyes at first but they slowly adjust.  I scroll over and open Word, that stupid blinking cursor annoying me and making me feel anxious.  My hands float over the keyboard, twitching because I'm not sure what I should type.  I figure that if I'm going to tell my story to the group, tell those kids what happened to me, I should start from where I left off yesterday.  Maybe I could read what I wrote to Dr. Hughes tomorrow and see if it's any good.  I guess it doesn't matter if it's any good, really, but I don't know.  Right now, I'm not sure if I even want to write.  I know Dr. Hughes said it might help but as I watch that stupid cursor blink I'm not so sure.

"Uh," I vocalize, my fingers staring to type.  I type a sentence but quickly erase it.  I don't think I can do this.  Writing's not the same as telling.  I like to tell stories, not write them.  Writing stories is when you make them up.  It's like  _Lord of the Rings_ or  _Harry Potter_.  New worlds are created when you write.  But when you tell stories, you're giving up a piece of you.  It's true, mostly.  I mean, sometimes the stories are made up but it's different than writing.  I don't really know why, it just is.  I close out of Word and shut the computer.  I guess I can't write.  Oh well.  I'll just tell the kids next week.  I'll tell them about the morning after That Night and stop so other kids can talk if they want.

I sit back on the couch, wondering what I'll talk about at therapy tomorrow.  I guess I could talk about what happened today.  But for some reason, I kinda want to talk about Mom and then maybe talk about the day  _she_ was arrested.  I don't know why I want to talk about those things.  I just do.  The cup reminded me of Mom.  Maybe that's why I want to talk about her.  I don't know.  I don't know why I ever want to talk about anything I talk about in therapy.  When those bubbles are gone, words just flow out of me.  I don't choose what I talk about, even if I had things I came in wanting to talk about.  I just start talking.  I kinda feel bad 'cause I'm sure Al has things to day but I never give him a chance to talk.  I always word vomit, never allowing him to speak.  Maybe tomorrow I'll wait and see what Al has to say.  Who knows?  Maybe it'll help me, too.

I turn on the TV for some light background noise.  I'm not really watching so I flip through channels.  There's nothing good on cable.  We usually watch Netflix but without Al to help me pick something I usually just stare at the screen until I close out of it.  I finally stop flipping through channels when I spot some Marvel movie.  Iron Man's in it but I'm not sure which movie it is.  It's probably the first _Avengers_ movie.  I see Hulk and confirm that it's  _The Avengers_.  Al and I like superhero movies.  The movies have these average people rising up to do something incredible.  It might be cheesy, but it helps me feel like maybe I can do something incredible, too.  That maybe I can rise above all the shit and make something of myself.  That I can be Bruce Banner - an abused child who grew up to be a scientist.  I mean, he did become a giant rage monster, but still.  He didn't allow the abuse to define him.  It's stupid but I try to be like Bruce Banner.  I guess that's why he's my favorite superhero.  But if I ever told someone that, they'd laugh at me.

 _The Avengers_ ends so I turn the TV off.  Al's still sleeping so I decide to finish my homework.  We usually do it together but I'm bored so I'm going to do it.  His feelings won't be hurt or anything if I do homework without him.  I've got math to do which is easy and I get excited when it's time to do my chemistry homework.  I like science, always have.  Al and I are good at it, too, which helps.  Math and science just make sense in our brains.  It always has.  So, we're both in advanced math and science.  That tends to rub kids the wrong way for some reason.  I guess it's 'cause we're in classes with a bunch of older kids and it makes them angry.  I don't know.  I hear Al coming down the stairs and he's sniffling.  I lower my lab notebook and spot my baby brother at the foot of the stairs.  I can tell he's upset so I stand.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"The trunk dream," he answers, his voice strained.

"Oh," I say.  I'm actually not sure what to say.  I never know when it comes to the trunk dream.  He's never been able to talk about the real event so talking about the dream is out of the question.  Al stays where he is, his whole body shaking.  My brow furrows and I guess that something else is wrong.  "Al?  What's the matter?"

Suddenly, we're little again.  I'm seven and he's six.  Al stares up at me, his tiny body shaking 'cause he's scared  _she's_  going to get mad at him for something.  He starts crying and I don't know what I'm supposed to do.  He cries harder and I walk over.  I wrap my arms around his shaking body, pulling his snot covered face into me.  My baby brother cries into my chest and I didn't know what I'm supposed to do; what else I could do.  I blink and realize that I'm really hugging him.  I don't remember walking over or wrapping my arms around him.  I got lost in that memory; a memory so similar that I guess I walked over while I was caught up in my memory.  He's hiding in my arms, hiding his face from some unseen threat.  I pet his hair, Al shivering violently because he's scared.

"I wet the bed," he finally says.  I nod, not ready to pull away yet.  I get pulled back again into that memory when we were little and he told me the same thing.   _She_ was gone and told us not to make a mess while  _she_ was gone.  But Al made a mess.  He had an accident.  I didn't know how to clean it up by myself and was terrified that  _she_ would come home and beat him for it.   _She_ did.

"It's okay," I say gently. "I'll take care of it."

"I'll help," he insists, finally pulling away.

"No, Ally," I say, still petting his soft hair, "You just put clean jammies on.  I'll take care of everything else."

"Brother," he begins, "I'm not a baby anymore."

"I know," I tell him. "I know you're not.  But I want to do it for you."  Al blinks before a smile spreads across his face.  My brow furrows and I ask, "What's up with you?"

"Nothing," he answers. "It's just you sounded a lot like Mom."  I pause, not sure what to say.  No one's ever really compared me to Mom before.  There's no one in the world I'd rather be like than Mom.  I mean, Dada's cool but Mom was amazing and so nice.  Al's already nice like her so for him to tell me that makes my heart sing.

"I did?" I ask softly.  Al nods.

"Yeah," he hums, taking my hand.  He pulls me up the stairs and says, "I remember when we were little and she'd try do something for us that we could do ourselves we'd say, 'Mama!  We aren't babies!' and she'd say, 'I know, but I want to do it for you because I love you.'  I miss people saying that."  I whimper, a lump forming in my throat.  Al pauses on the step before the landing and looks worriedly at me.  "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I lie, wiping my eyes.  I give him a hug and say, "Thanks, Al."  He chuckles softly and pets my hair.

"You're welcome."

I don't think he knows how much I needed to hear that.


	4. The Trunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al loves corn muffins more than I do and I really freaking love corn muffins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks again to all ya'll who are reading! It means a lot and here's a new chapter for you! Also, quick warning - This chapter has semi-detailed descriptions of child abuse. Read at your own risk!

On Fridays, Dada takes us to IHOP for breakfast.  Dad takes us to IHOP on therapy days, Mondays and Fridays, every week.  We go early so Al can handle it 'cause there's not a lot of people in the restaurant that early.  We all get pancakes and talk about our week and what we're gonna do over the weekend.  Dad asks us what we want to do and we aren't sure.  Al says he kinda wants to go to Elicia's party tomorrow but isn't sure about it at the same time.  Parties aren't really Al's thing.  Dad tells him that we can swing by before the party starts if he decides the party is too much for him to handle and Al seems to like that.  Dada asks me what I want to do this weekend and I shrug.  Elicia's party might be fun but chilling at Winry's with Al sounds like fun, too.  Playing video games and watching Netflix is good enough for me.  So, I say that and Al seems to agree.  We finish breakfast and Dada mentions how he wants to learn how to make pancakes.  Al chuckles, mentioning how you can get instant pancakes in a box that I've been making since third grade.  Dad laughs but says he wants to learn to make them from scratch and we back him up 100%.  It would be nice to eat at home and eat food Dada makes instead of eating out all the time.

Dad drops us off at school and asks if Al's okay.  He had a terrible day at school yesterday and Dada wants to make sure he's okay.  Al says he is because he doesn't have gym today.  Dad kisses us both and we walk to class together.  We meet up with Winry and talk for a minute before parting ways.  Morning classes flew by and soon it's lunch.  Winry, Al, and I all have lunch together with Ling and our other friends so we sit together and talk about the weekend.  Ling's going to a party (he always does) and invites us to come (he always does).  We turn him down (we always do) and he's cool with it.  He knows parties aren't our scene but always invites us because he likes us.  I've been to his house a few times and his parents are never there.  That's fine by me because I'm nervous around adults I don't know but I can tell it bothers Ling and Mei.  But because their parents are never home, they have people over all the time.  Since their parents are rich, they have the best games and even have a pool.  Anyway, I ask Winry if she'd be okay with Al and me coming over and of course she says yes.  We talk a little about Elicia's birthday party before the bell rings.  We go to class and the rest of the day flies by.

Since Friday is a therapy day, right after school Dada picks us up and drives us to the doctor.  Wednesday is group day and we have it at the same building that we have therapy in.  The bell rings and I meet Al by my locker.  He grins weakly and we walk outside together.  I've decided that I'm not going to talk until Al does.  I take up the whole session a lot and I think Al needs a chance to talk.  I can tell there's a lot on his mind and he needs to talk about it.  We get in the car and Dad asks how school was.  We both say it was fine and Dad runs out of things today.  Now that Dada doesn't travel anymore, he's run out of words.  He doesn't have stories to tell anymore.  Sometimes he'll talk about Mom or tell funny stories from when we were babies but that's it.  If we don't have anything to talk about, Dad doesn't have anything to talk about.

"Did anything funny happen in lab, Dada?" I ask.  Dad still works at the college in town teaching both organic chemistry and biochemistry.  He went back to that full-time when everything fell apart two years ago.  Dada shrugs, though he's smiling.

"Did I not tell you boys this?" He laughs.

"No," we both say.  We love Dad's stories and wish he would tell them more.

"Well, on Tuesday in organic lab this week we were running a distillation," Dada begins. "This one student had the whole set up perfect except she forgot to clamp her round bottom flask to the distillation unit.  So, when the distillation was over she dropped the heat source and the round bottom flask stayed on the condenser for a minute.  She turns her back for a second and the round bottom slipped off the condenser, bounces on the table, doesn't shatter, and landed in the sink.  Once it was in the sink, it shattered.  This poor girl heard her glass shattering and turned around.  Her elbow hit her distillation unit and knocked it over.  Her unit fell on to her neighbor's and started this domino effect.  Soon, everyone on that bench had a distillation unit that had fallen over and there was glass everywhere.  It was a bit of a disaster, but goodness, boys, it was funny.  The TA and I were laughing and I suppose it was mean but you should have seen this girl's face.  She was mortified and it was so funny."

"What about biochem, Dada?" Al asks as Dad pulls into a parking spot.

"There was an incident with a blender that I'll have to tell you about over dinner," Dad replies cheerfully, killing the car.

"We're gonna hold you to that," I tell him.  Dad laughs.

"I expect nothing less from you, Ed," he says, getting out of the car.  We walk inside and head to Dr. Hughes' office.

Dr. Hughes' whole office specializes in kids and teenagers.  They understand how kids work and help them recover from the shit they've been through.  When Officer Mustang arrested  _her_ two years ago, I was thirteen and Al wasn't twelve yet.  Officer Mustang is friends with Dr. Hughes and recommended him to Dada because he thought he could help.  I think he has.  I definitely feel better than I did when I was thirteen and I know Al's better.  We sign in, a few kids playing in the waiting room.  They all know us and always want us to play with them.  They range in age, but most of them are between eight and twelve.  We build blocks and color with them mostly.  I'ts actually pretty fun but we won't admit it.  We're supposed to be teenagers, not little kids.  But we've told Dr. Hughes that sometimes we feel like little kids.  He calls that regression.  It's when your brain thinks being younger will protect you for some reason.  Or something like that.  I don't really understand it.  He says our minds revert to a safer time to keep us safe.  While it makes no sense, I have noticed that sometimes I wish I was little so Dada could pick me up and hold me close.  Sometimes I wish I was little so Dada would kiss me when I get hurt.  Sometimes I wish Dada could carry me and Al around on his shoulders.  Sometimes I'm really clingy and sit in Dada's lap and I do carry stuffed animals around in my backpack.  That's probably crazy.  I don't know.  I can't change how I feel.

We play with the little kids for a while before Dr. Hughes comes out to get us.  He smiles at us and we get up.  Dada pulls his phone out and starts to read something.  He hasn't come back with us since Al was twelve.  We were scared at first but soon we were able to do it just the two of us.  Dr. Hughes is talking about us having separate sessions and that freaks us out.  Al and I do everything together.  We're in the same club, we like the same things, we go everywhere together.  If we don't, we're vulnerable.  We're not safe.  Dr. Hughes keeps saying that as we get older, we won't always be together.  College is the hot topic right now.  In two years, I'll be getting ready to go to college.  When I go, Al'll be alone.  Winry's my age so her and all my friends will go to college at the same time and he'll be alone.  The thought of that makes us panicky and makes me want to wait a year.  But Dr. Hughes says I can't put my life on hold for my brother.  He says I did that when we were kids and I can't do that anymore.  That makes me mad.  Usually, Dr. Hughes is super cool but when he starts talking about how dependent Al is or how Al took up too much of my time growing up or how I'm more of a father than a brother and that's not healthy I get mad.  All that tells me is that for all his talk, Dr. Hughes doesn't understand.  I was all Al had and he was all I had.  We needed each other.  No one was going to take care of him so I had to.  It makes me mad when he talks like that.

We get to his office and sit down.  There's always candy on the table between his desk and the chairs.  We never reach for it.  We don't eat other people's food unless they invite us to.  It's wrong otherwise.  Dr. Hughes never invites us so we don't eat.  He sits down in front of us, his gentle eyes scanning us.  He's looking to see if there's any stress on our faces so he can open with that.  Neither of us are stressed or anxious at the moment, though, so he knows he can just open it up for us to talk.

"So, anything on your minds that you want to talk about?" He asks.  I swallow, words threatening to spill out of my mouth before Al has a chance to speak.

"I-I think I do," Al says softly. "I think I have something to talk about."

"All right, let's hear it," Dr. Hughes encourages.

"Well, I've had the trunk dream a lot recently," Al begins, his voice wavering. "I've never told you what that dream's about because I've been too scared.  I... I think I'm ready now."  Dr. Hughes nods and reaching for his clipboard.  Every time we say something new about what happened, he writes it down.  I don't know why, but he does.

"Okay," Dr. Hughes says, my heart stalling.  The trunk is something Al hates talking about.  It's like my fence or one of the other things I dream about the most.  Like the basement or the chain.  I don't talk about those things.  Dr. Hughes knows they happened, but doesn't know anything about them.  But soon, he will.  I'm telling my story and Al's telling his.  Soon, he'll know everything and that terrifies me.

"I was seven," Al begins, his voice strained, "And Dada had been gone for a week.  He was going to be gone for another week before he got home.  V-Van... Vanessa was awful that week to us.   _She_ had beaten Brother nearly every day because he wouldn't let  _her_ hit me.  But he was too sore and hurt to take it anymore so I took the beatings for him instead.  I remember that every part of me hurt.  My hands never stopped shaking that week and I had two accidents at school that week.   _She_ beat me so hard after the second one that week that I stayed home from school the rest of the time Daddy was gone.

"While I stayed home from school,  _she_ made me do chores.  I couldn't do a lot of them because I was too little.  I couldn't reach things and was too small to use the bigger appliances.   _She_ got mad and yelled at me a lot, screaming that I couldn't do anything right.   _She_ said that the reason Dada went away so much was because he hated us and thought we were dumb.  That one always stung.  I remember not wanting to believe  _her_ because Dada was always so nice to us but  _her_ nasty words always stuck with me more than anything nice people said.  Anyway, I remember I was putting dishes away after they had been washed.  It took forever to unload the dishwasher because I was so little.  My hands were shaking and I did my best not to drop anything.  But I-I... I did.  I d-dropped a cup.  My heart stopped when it hit the floor and exploded into a bunch of little pieces.  I hurried off the counter and started to clean it up.  I hoped that if I got it cleaned up before  _she_ got back, I wouldn't get hurt.  I cut my hand because I was frantically trying to clean up.  Blood ran down my hand and I started crying.  I wanted Dada.  I want Dada."  Al stops to wipe his face.  The hard part is coming up so I take his hand in mine.  He sniffles loudly and continues; 

"Brother came in and tried to help me.  But we couldn't get it all cleaned up in time.  Soon _she_ was hovering over me, screaming at me for breaking the cup.

"'I d-didn't mean to," I told  _her_ frantically. 'Honest!'

'You can't do anything right, you worthless brat!'  _She_ yelled.

'Leave him alone!' Ed cried.  Vanessa rounded on him and Brother lost his voice.   _She_ pointed a finger at him and said, 

'Stay out of this.'   _She_ turned to me and grabbed my hands.  I remember that I was more scared than I had ever been.  _She_ had burned my hands before for dropping things and I was scared  _she_ was going to do that again.  I remember wetting my pants a little as I stood there, waiting to find out what she was going to do to me.  Finally,  _she_ said, 'What good are you if you can't even use your hands?!'   _She_ dragged me outside to the driveway and I started crying because I was terrified that  _she_ was going to hit me with the car or lock me out of the house.

'I want Daddy!' I cried, 'I want Daddy!'

'Shut up!'  _She_ hissed, opening the trunk of  _her_ car.   _She_ forced my hands to sit where the trunk lid meets the rest of the car and  _she_ slammed my hands in it.  I screamed in pain and  _she_ slapped me across the face.

'Keep it down, stupid,'  _she_ warned.   _She_ opened the trunk, my fingers already turning red.  They were throbbing and all bent out of shape.  Brother watched from the doorway, knowing that if he tried to help, he'd only make things worse.   _She_ slammed my fingers again before opening the trunk again and leaving it open.  I was crying, but did my best to keep quiet because I didn't want  _her_ to hit me again.   _She_ grabbed me by my neck and lifted me off the ground.

'Wh-What are y-you doing?' Brother asked from the door, his voice shaking.

'Your brother's taking a little time-out,'  _she_ told him.   _She_ threw me inside the trunk and I looked up at  _her._ I was scared and confused and  _she_ snickered at me.  'Hope you learn to use your hands, Ally,'  _she_ told me before shutting that door.  I....  I didn't get out until two days later."  Al stops talking, his whole body shaking.  He emits a sort of cry before breaking down into tears.  I simply rub his back, Dr. Hughes finishing whatever he's writing on the clipboard before looking at us.

"That must have been very hard to talk about," Dr. Hughes says sadly.  Al nods and Dr. Hughes says, 'You're not worthless, Alphonse.  You're not stupid, Alphonse.  You are very capable, Alphonse."  Al is wailing like a little baby, unable to believe his words.   _She_ really messed us up.   _She_ told us those things for so long that we have no other choice but to believe them.  Whenever we tell him something like that, he always negates whatever  _she_ told us.  It can get pretty hairy because  _she_ used gross words but that doesn't stop Dr. Hughes.  He always makes a point to tell us that we're not whatever  _she_ said we are in the hope that someday, we'll believe him.

"Ed," Dr. Hughes addresses after a while, "How does that story make you feel?"  I swallow, unable to find my words.

"Well, I," I begin, the bubbles rising in my throat, "I... bad."  My hands are sweating and I'm nervous.  I don't want to talk about how it makes me feel.  I don't want to.  This was supposed to be about Al, not me.  I don't want to talk about it.  I don't want to.

"Can you tell me more?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"I....  It's my fault," I say softly, my voice barely audible as Al's still sobbing.

"How so?" He prompts.  The bubbles make it hard to breathe, let alone talk.  But like the last time he asked me to talk, I can't stop the words from flowing out of me.

"I didn't do enough," I say. "I wasn't quick enough to clean the glass up.  I was too scared to do anything when _she_ smashed his hands.  I was too scared to sneak him food when he was...."  I take a strangled breath and it's hard to say what I'm going to say next, "When he was trapped in a trunk for two days."  I shake my head and ask, "Can this be about Al now?  I wasn't going to talk so he could."  Dr. Hughes nods and turns to Al who's not sobbing anymore.

"How did that make you feel?" He asks.  Al takes a deep breath and turns to me.  There are tears running down his face and I want nothing more than to run and hide.

"It's not your fault," he tells me softly.  He turns back to Dr. Hughes without a response from me and says, "It makes me feel awful.  Like, I really can't do anything right.  Yesterday, I had a panic attack at school.  I threw up and almost peed myself in front of my whole class.  I mean, I'm fourteen!"  Al's voice breaks and I know he's going to start wailing again.  "Whenever I talk about it or dream about it, it makes me think that  _she_ was right about me.  And  _she_ was!  Brother blames himself for something  _I_ did.  He thinks it was him!"  Al stands suddenly and I'm not sure what he's going to do.  He's never done something like this before.  I can tell he's both sad and angry at the same time.  He's shaking, but it's different than his normal tremor somehow.  Al picks up the candy bowl and throws it.  It hits the far wall, shattering into a million pieces.  My eyes are wide, my heart beating as I wait for Dr. Hughes to slap Al across the face or yell at him or something.  Instead, he just sits back and watches as Al hugs himself and sinks to his knees.

"Everything  _she_ ever said was true," he sobs, bending over. "I'm so... so  _worthless_ _!_   I'll never be anything except that little boy trapped inside a car trunk.  Why?   _Why?!_ "  I'm stunned.  Al's never acted like this before.  Never.  Neither have I.  I've gotten mad in therapy, sure, but I've never thrown something.  I've never screamed at the top of my lungs like he just did.  I'm not sure what to do.  Dr. Hughes rises slowly and walks over.  My baby brother is still crying loudly, his arms wrapped around his middle.

"I-I w-w-want D-Dada," he wails, Dr. Hughes squatting down in front of him.

"It's okay now, Alphonse," he says gently.  His voice reminds me of Dada when we have bad dreams.  It's the same voice, almost.  Al looks up at him, chocking at Dr. Hughes says, "I know it's hard, but it's okay.  It's okay to have bad days.  It's okay to cry and throw things sometimes.  It's okay."

"I-I'm sorry about y-your bowl," Al cries pathetically. "I'm sorry.  I-I'll g-get you a n-new one."  Dr. Hughes smiles at him and shakes his head.

"Don't worry about that, Al," he says softly. "I want you to say something for me.  Ed, you say it, too."  I nod, unsure of what he's going to say.  "I want you both to say; 'None of it is my fault'."  We quickly exchange glances.  We talk with our eyes, saying there's no way we can say that.  But we decide with our eyes that we need to.  Dr. Hughes means well.  We should do what he asks.

"N-None of it is my fault," I say, waiting for Al.  Al swallows hard and I can see the puke rise in his throat.  He swallows it and shakes his head.

"None....  None of it is m-my f-f-fault," he echoes.

"Good job, boys," Dr. Hughes praises. "I'm proud of you."  Those little words mean so little to so many people.  To Al and me, it's a gold mine.  It means we didn't screw up.  It means that for once, we did something right.  We did something to be proud of.  Al's lip quivering and he throws himself on to Dr. Hughes.  He starts crying again and Dr. Hughes rubs his back.  I feel mad watching it, feeling like it should be  _me_ comforting Al.  He's  _my_ little brother.  It's  _my_ job to take care of him.  Soon, though, the hug ends and Al walks over to me.  He wraps his arms around me and everything's the way it should be.  I'm holding Al as he cries like I should.  I'm doing my job - the only job I know how to do.

"It's okay, Ally," I whisper, "It's okay.  I'm here.  I'm here."  Al's trembling fingers grip my clothes and I pet his hair.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?" Dr. Hughes asks, sitting down.  I shake my head, my words getting lost somewhere.  "You sure?"  It's then I realize that there is something I want to tell him.

"I tried writing," I tell him.  Dr. Hughes raises his brow.

"And?" He prompts.

"And I couldn't do it," I admit, suddenly feeling guilty. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says. "Why do you think you couldn't?"

"It didn't feel real," I explain. "Like it wasn't my story unless I was saying it out loud.  It's weird." Dr. Hughes smiles at me.

"It's hard to put our stories into words," he tells me. "It's hard to say the things that trouble us the most and sometimes it's hard to even write them down.  And that's okay.  It's all a part of the process, Ed.  You may not be able to write now because it doesn't feel real to you, but maybe one day it will.  Maybe one day you'll feel so comfortable with your story that you'll not only be able to tell it freely and completely to others, but you'll be able to write it down.  And maybe you won't.  Either way, you'll be a happy person.  I know you will.  Because having the courage to open and tell your story means you have the courage to move forward."

"It doesn't feel like I have any courage," I admit. "I'm always scared.  I'm scared that someone will hurt me or Al.  I'm scared that one day Dada will decided that he hates us like  _she_ did and either leave or beat us.  I'm scared that one day Winry will say she doesn't like us and stop being our friend.  I'm scared that  _she's_ going to find me.  I don't have any courage, Dr. Hughes."

"That's not true, Ed," Dr. Hughes tells me. "You and your brother have more courage in you than most people.  It's a very courageous thing to seek help when you need it.  You've both swallowed your pride and have decided to seek help.  You  _want_ to recover.  You don't want to run away from it anymore.  You're starting to open up about the darkest parts of your past.  That takes a tremendous amount of courage."  I blink, my hand resting on top of Al's head.  I certainly don't feel courageous or brave.  I'm just telling my story.  But yeah; I do want to get better.  I don't want to run from it anymore.  So, maybe I am brave.  I know Al is but for the first time since everything happened, I feel like maybe I am, too.

"Brother's brave," Al says, like he read my mind. "And when Brother's brave, I am, too."

"We find bravery in others more often than we find it in ourselves," Dr. Hughes says. "And seeing it in those we love can help us find it in ourselves."  It was like they knew what I was thinking.  The bubbles are there, trying to force down what I want to say.  But I force them to pop, force them to disappear so I can say something that I was so scared wasn't true for a long time.

"I'm brave," I say.  I stood up to  _her_ and took care of Al.  That's brave.  I told the truth when Al broke down at Winry's when I was in seventh grade.  That's brave.  I agreed to therapy, even though I wasn't sure about it and was scared.  That's brave.  I'm facing my past and trying to get better.  That's brave.  But most of all, I'm telling my story.  That's the bravest thing of all.  Al pulls away, a smile on his face.  I smile, too, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I'm actually getting better.

"Dr. Hughes," Al says, sitting down in his own seat finally, "I like doing crafts.  What if I made you a bowl to replace the one I broke?"  Dr. Hughes smiles warmly, that kind of dad smile that makes my heart feel like it's full of warm sugar.

"Sure," he says. "I would love that, buddy."  Al smiles broadly, that happy smile he used to have on his face all the time before  _she_ came around.  I shut my eyes, imagining a future where Al has that smile on his face all the time again.  I imagine a time where he doesn't shake and I can talk to adults without being scared.  I imagine a time where we can laugh and sleepover and go to parties with friends.  I imagine an Ed who says what he's thinking, who doesn't have bubbles in his throat that keep him from saying what he wants to say.  I imagine the Elric brothers as we could be; as we should be.  And for the first time ever, I actually think we can get there.

Therapy ends and Dada greets us in the waiting room.  Al gives him a big hug, his arms lingering for a moment as Dada kisses his hair.  I smile, still thinking about the future I imagined.  I'm determined now more than ever to get there.  Al and I are going to get there together.  Al finally lets go, though his hand is holding Dada's.  Dad smiles at me and I grin back, Dad laughing at me.  We walk to the car, Dad asking how it went.  Al says that he did a lot of talking and Dad says those four words we love more than anything; "I'm proud of you".  Al practically melts, his face glowing as he thinks about those words.  I tell Dada that I got some things off my chest, too, and he says the same words to me.  He's proud of me.  I can't reply but not because of the bubbles.  I can't reply because my mouth is full of warm caramel and if I open my mouth, it'll disappear.

"So," Dada begins as he starts the car, "Where do you boys want to eat dinner?"  Dad shakes his head and says, "Sorry.  Where do you want me to pick food up from?"  Al's face falls and he looks away.  I guess he's not ready for a restaurant after his meltdown.  Makes sense.

"I'm up for anything," I say.

"Well, I brought home Italian last night so let's do something else," Dad says.  I guess he knows Al's not gonna talk so he asks, "What are you in the mood for, Brother?"  I shrug.

"Anything," I repeat, knowing that doesn't really help.

"You know what I'm in the mood for?" Al says softly from the backseat.  His eyes widen suddenly, like it's taboo for him to speak, and stops.  Dada looks at him from the rear view mirror with sad eyes.

"What, baby?" He asks gently. "You can tell me."  Al stays still for a moment before looking up at Dad.  I can tell he's scared, that familiar tremor raging through his body as he struggles to make words come out of his mouth.

"Corn muffins," Al says.  Dad stares at him and Al says, "Like a whole bunch of them."

"We could go to Crackle Barrel," I suggest. "They have corn muffins and a to-go thing."

"That's true," Dada says.  He chuckles and says, "Do you remember when Mom and I used to take you there?"

"Yeah," I say, a smile on my face.

"No," Al says softly.

"Well," Dad begins, "You boys used to love the store that's in the front of the restaurant.  You'd run around and show us all the novelty toys, even though we've seen them all before.  There was such an excitement in your eyes, one we couldn't possibly crush."

"And the rocking chairs," I add. "Remember, Dada?"

"Yeah," he says distantly, his mind on Mom.

"I remember those," Al pipes up sadly. "I'd sit on Mom's lap after dinner and fall asleep to her petting my hair."

"That's right," Dada confirms.

"I miss Mom," Al says, saying what we're all feeling.

"We should go to Crackle Barrel," I blurt. "Like, inside the place.  We should sit in those rocking chairs, look at novelty toys, and play checkers like we did when we were little."  Dad slides his eyes over to me then looks back at Al who's already pale.

"I don't know, Ed," he says quietly. "Al's anxiety has been pretty bad recently.  I don't think he's up to it right now.  Crackle Barrel's always crowded, especially around dinner time."

"Oh," I sigh. "Okay."

"Dada, let's go," Al says and I whip my head around to look at him.  I can't believe he'd say that.  I know he's not up to it.  His anxiety has been awful lately.

"What?" I breathe.  Al's shaking and clearly not up to it, but he smiles at me.

"Let's go," he repeats. "I miss Mom and going inside will remind me of her."

"You have Chico, right?" Dad asks.  Al nods.

"Mmm, yeah," Al replies. "Can I carry him?"

"Of course you can," Dada assures him. "If he makes you feel safe."

"Al, we don't have to," I tell him. "It's okay if you can't."  Al smiles at me again.

"I definitely can't," he laughs. "I'm terrified of being around so many people or having a panic attack in a restaurant.  But I'm brave today."  I blink.  Al's changing somehow.  I can't put my finger on how, but he is.  It's like a piece of him that died a long time ago is coming back.  I don't know but it makes my stomach feel funny - like it's doing flips.  I want him to get better, but I don't want him to not need me anymore.  But I'm proud of him.  I tell him I'm proud with my eyes and he smiles even brighter.  I'm scared that soon he won't need me anymore, but I push that aside for now.  Baby brother's brave so I'm going to be, too.  Besides - we're brothers.  I think we'll always need each other, even if it's not the way we need each other now.

"Okay, Ally," Dada says. "But if you feel like you need to leave, even if we haven't ordered yet, we'll go, okay?"

"Okay," Al replies.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Dad presses.  He doesn't want to push Al into something he's not ready for.  Thing is, though, Al's not ready.  He even said so.  But Al wants to be brave and Dad's gonna let him be that way.

"No," Al admits.  He stares at his hands and says, "But I'm tired of being scared all the time."

"Me, too," I add, falling in my seat.  Dad smiles - that proud smile that makes me warm all over.

"All right," he says. "To Crackle Barrel."  I grin ear to ear, Al laughing softly in the backseat.  I like this whole being brave thing.  I think I can get used to it if it keeps Al laughing.

We park the car and get out, Chico tucked tightly under Al's arm.  He's shaking so I take his hand, Dada leading us inside.  There's a thirty-minute wait, pretty quick from what I remember.  Crackle Barrel always has a long wait from what I remember.  But thirty minutes is nothing when there's a whole story to look at.  I forgot how much I loved the smell inside the store.  It's sweet and homey - something a candle company would make a scent of.  We look at silly postcards, wondering who would actually buy one.  There's a couple that have Chicago on them (we're only about two hours from Chicago) but most of them are from here.  Our hometown's pretty boring so we think it's funny that there'd be postcards of this place.  We move on to the toys, Al still holding my hand.  That talking parrot that I always wanted as a kid stares at me and I reach out to touch it.  I remember how  _she_ promised to buy never did.  I shake my head, forcing those nasty memories away.  Tonight I just want to have dinner with my dad and brother.  I don't want to be sad.  I touch the toy, it's soft fabric making me grin weakly.

"Brother!" Al says excitedly, tugging on my arm.  I look over and he's pointing to a display of cats that kinda look like Chico.  He squirms on his feet the way he did when he was little and squeals, "Look at all the Chicos!  I've never seen so many toys before!"  It's then I remember just how little Al was when the abuse started.  He was four.  Most people don't have good memories until after that, so he doesn't remember a lot about our happy days.  Mom used to take us to toy stores all the time but he doesn't remember.   _She_ never took us anywhere after the abuse started and Dada never had time to take us fun places.  So, he doesn't remember seeing so many toys in one place.  It's depressing.

"Yeah, Al," I say, ruffling his hair. "It's a whole arm of Chicos."  He giggles and his eyes drift to that little ferret-thing that runs around in a hamster ball.  He squeals happily an squats down.

"Look!" He cries.  It rolls around, Al laughing at it.  I squat down, too, watching the toy roll across the wood floor.  Al turns to me and says, "I've never seen anything like this before!"  Al's so excited that I think he's forgotten that he's scared.  He rises and I rise with him, his hand encased in mine.  Dad's nearby, looking at quits and Al finds some of those wind-up teeth.  He laughs wildly, turning the little crank-thing and watching it bounce around.

"Al," I say, pointing to the parrot, "Look."  He follows my finger, his eyes widening when he sees it.  I reach for it (I have to stand on my tip-toes to reach it) and hold it in my arms.  Al watches curiously as I say, "Hi, Al" and wait.  The parrot repeats it and Al gasps.

"That's so cool!" He exclaims, the parrot repeating him.

"I always wanted one," I tell him.  Al looks at me and checks the price.

"I get it for you," he says and I blush instantly.

"Wh-What?" I ask, Al smiling at me.

"I have enough to buy it," Al clarifies.  I nearly drop it, unsure of how to react.

"I-I...." I struggle, "I don't need a toy, you know."  Al shrugs.

"Yeah, so?" He questions lightly. "You like him, right?"  I nod and he says, "Then I'll buy him for you."

"Let's get one in a box," I tell him as he reaches for the one in my arms.

"Oh," he says.  He grabs a box, struggling to carry it and Chico at the same time.  I notice and say, 

"Want me to carry Chico for you?"

"No," he answers instantly. "I can carry him."

"Are you sure?" I press gently. "I don't want you to drop him."

"I won't," Al says, walking toward the front.  He freezes, though, the sight of so many people scaring him.

"You don't have to do this," I remind him.  He shakes his head and I know he's trying to be brave.  He wants to be brave.

"You wanted this growing up," he says. "I want to give this to you."  I nod and stand in front of him.

"Focus on me, then," I tell him. "Don't worry about anyone else.  It's just me and you."  Al nods, his face pale.  We walk toward the register, Dad watching us from a far.  There's not much of a line so we get served right away.

"Is this all?" The cashier asks.  We both don't say anything at first.  She stares at us before Al nods.  She says the total and All pulls his money out.  He puts it on the counter, the lady staring at it.  She eventually takes it and counts it, no doubt weirded out by our strange silence.  She puts it in the register, hands Al his change, and puts the box in a bag.

"Elric, party of three," says someone over the intercom, "Elric, party of three."  I pull on Al's arm and move him away from the counter.

"Thanks," I tell the cashier.  We meet with Dada and I instantly know something's wrong with Al.  He's shaking harder than usual and he seems panicked.  "What's wrong?"

"I d-dropped Chico," he tells me.

"Don't worry," Dada says before I can talk, "We'll find him, baby."  Dad turns to me and says, "I'm going to talk to the host about our table.  Help Al find Chico, okay?"  I nod and start scanning the store as Dad walks away.  Al's breathing is ragged and I know I have to hurry.  I take his hand and guide him back over to the toys.  The army of Chicos  stares at us and I see a couple little kids hanging around.  It's then I see Chico.  There's a little girl who's holding him, obviously confused but amused by how worn Chico is.  She probably thinks he belongs with the army of Chicos and I hear Al gasp.

"Chico!" Al cries, hurrying over.  I follow him, anxiety clawing at my belly.  Al reaches the little girl and says, "Excuse me, but that's mine."  The girl smiles and giggles.

"Nuh-uh," she replies. "I found him so he's mine."

"N-No," Al replies. "That's Chico.  My mom gave him to me and you have to give him back."  The girl sticks her tongue out at us.

"Chico's a dumb name," she taunts, Al's lip quivering and she says, "What kind of teenager brings a stuffed cat to a restaurant?" She begins walking away and Al starts crying.  I let go of his hand and stand in front of the girl.

"Give it back," I instruct. "That's my brother's.  Give it back."

"It doesn't have his name on it," she says and I smirk.

"Actually, it does," I tell her. "Check the tag."  The girl flips Chico around.

"Alphonse Elric," she reads, "(217) 321-0987."

"See?" I say, the girl staring blankly at me, "That's my brother's toy and he needs it back."  She continues to stare at me so I reach for Chico.  She yelps and hurries away, still clutching Chico.  "Hey!" I call.  She darts behind a woman who I can only guess is her mother.  I glance over to find Dada and I see that he's been seated.  Probably to keep our table he had to.  We're on our own.  I hurry and grab Al's hand and walk over.  He's trying his best to wipe his tears but can't.  The woman scowls at us and I glare right back.

"Leave my daughter alone," she warns.  Al whimpers, his fight to be brave slipping away.

"Please just give Chico back," he says pitifully, his lip trembling.

"Chico?" The woman questions.

"The cat your daughter picked up," I clarify. "It's got his name and our phone number on it so if you could just give it back, that'd be awesome."

"Mom, they're lying!" The girl cries. "I got him in the toy section!" 

"Whatever this is it's not funny," the woman tells us.

"It's his cat!" I tell her heatedly.  Al can't keep his composure anymore and I know we're out of time.

"Give him back!" Al wails, a few people turning to look at him.  I glare at him and Al continues begging; "Please give Chico back!  He's mine!  Mom gave him to me!"

"What kind of boy are you?" She asks, Al quieting as she stares at him. "You're much too old to cry over a toy."

"Watch it," I warn.  No one talks to my baby brother like that.  No one.  "It's a comfort item.  He's got severe anxiety because he's been through some hard stuff.  Now give it back so we can eat."

"Like what?" The woman questions, the girl staring at us from behind her mother.  I can see Chico's head and I want nothing more than to reach out and rip him from her arms.  But that would cause a huge scene and I'd rather avoid that.

"Like abuse," I say, the word searing my tongue.  I hate that word but it's the only card I have to play.  "Give my brother his cat back.  Now."  The woman fumbles for a moment before tearing the cat from her daughter's grip.  She hands it to me and I give it to Al.  He cuddles Chico close, the matted fabric catching his tears.

"I'm sorry," she says, her daughter's lip trembling. "I didn't know."

"Next time check the tag," I tell her rudely. "C'mon, Al."  I pick up the bag with the parrot and take Al's free hand.  The woman stares at us as we go but I don't care.  I saved Chico and saved dinner.  I'm feeling pretty good about that.

Al and I find Dada in the dining area.  He smiles at us, his eyes resting on Chico as we sit down.  Al's semi-calm again which is good 'cause Dad had a story to tell.  Something about a blender.  I bet his TAs screwed something up again.  He's got these two TAs for biochem who also help out with organic lab and freshman biology.  I met them when they were both freshmen so I know them okay.  There's this girl who's one of the strangest people I've ever met.  She's wicked smart, but clumsy and loud and hilarious.  The other TA is this guy with a bad mouth but a good heart.  Whenever Dada has a story about biochem, it always involves them.  We order, Al stroking Chico as Dad takes a drink of his water.  I stare at him, Dad glancing down at his phone as we sit in silence.

"Dada," I say.  He glances up at me and smiles.

"Sorry, honey," he says, pocketing his phone. "I had to answer an email."

"It's okay," I tell him. "So, what happened with that blender?" Dada chuckles.

"Right," he laughs.  Al perks up, his fingers putting that weird put the sticks in the triangle game back in the center of the table and listens.  "Yesterady, we were doing lab prep for today's biochem lab.  We did an enzyme kinetics lab and got the enzyme we needed from potatoes.  I told the TAs to put the potatoes in a blender with a little DI water and walked off to do something else while they blended the potatoes.  Next thing I know, I hear the whirl of the blender followed by Kate screaming.  There's this awful crunching noise and Charlie's laughing.  I walk back in and there's potatoes mush and water all over the lab bench.  The blender was actually missing a washer so it was leaking.  But that's not the best part.  The TAs were holding on to the lid when the glass covering the hole in the lid fell in.  They completely broke the blender and the lab was a mess."

"At least they're good sports," I laugh.

"Yeah," Al agrees. "I'd be pretty embarrassed if it was me."  Al quiets and I stare at Chico.  My eyes widen and I think of something to talk about.

"Dad, you know the animal shelter?" I blurt.  Dad's brow furrows but he nods.

"The county shelter?" He questions.  I nod and he says, "Isn't that in danger of closing?"

"Well, it was, but Ling and Mei fought to keep it open," I tell him.

"That's wonderful, Ed," he says, taking a sip of water.

"Dada," Al says softly, "Mei invited me to volunteer with her."  Dad nearly chokes on his water.

"Really?" He coughs, Al laughing at him.

"Yeah," Al answers. "I....  Well, I think I want to."

"Are you serious?" Dad asks and I grin.  This was exactly what I wanted.  Dad talking with us, his eyes sparkling like they did when we were little.  Al nods.

"It might be fun," Al says. "Besides, I've always liked animals."

"That is true," Dad agrees. "Do you think you're up to it?" Al shrugs, his thumb running along the side of the glass.

"I don't know," he answers, his brown eyes resting on the milk in his cup. "But I want to try."

"Because you're brave today," Dad hums proudly.  Al shakes his head.

"Because I wanna be brave every day," Al corrects.

"That's wonderful," Dad praises, Al smiling happily. "I'm proud of you, Al."

"I think Al would the best shelter volunteer ever," I say. "The shelter has, like, this cat room where there's jut a butt load of cats running around.  You have to feed them and clean their boxes but when you're done you can just play with them.  It's like Al's version of Heaven."  Al chuckles.

"Plus there's always kittens," Al adds excitedly. "I hear you get to handle them when you're there!"

"And you can walk the dogs," Dada says.

"Ling says there's puppies right now," I say. "Like little fluffy ones.  He showed me a picture on his phone."

"I've been thinking," Dada says. "You're going to be sixteen in February, Ed.  Do you want to start learning to drive?"  I blink.  I don't even have my permit.  Al nudges me, his eyes asking what I'm going to do.

"Well, I, uh," I stammer.  Driving's something I've always been excited to do, but the learning part freaks me out.  I've heard kids talk about how their parents get mean when they mess up and I don't know if I can handle it.  "I mean, I want to, but I don't have my permit, Dada."

"That's okay," he tells me. "I can pick up a book for you to study if you want to learn and get your permit."

"Will Brother get a cell phone?" Al asks.

"Yes, I should imagine so," Dad says. "I've actually been thinking you both might need one before you start driving.  If Al's going to start volunteering, he might need one so he can call me to come and get him."

"I don't want one," Al says instantly.  The idea of a cell phone makes him anxious.  I don't know why.  My guess is he doesn't like the idea of people being able to reach him all the time.

"That's okay, but when you drive, Al, we'll have to talk about getting one.  The last thing I want is for you to be stranded because you don't have a phone." Dada tells him.  "So, Ed - want to learn to drive?"  My mouth is dry so I take a drink of my soda.  I don't know.  I do but I don't.  I close my eyes, my head hesitantly nodding.  Yeah, I wanna learn.  But I wanna take it slow.

"Wonderful," Dad says, the waiter returning with our food. "I can get you a copy of the driver's book next week."

"'Kay," I reply, pushing food around with my fork.  There are corn muffins on the table, Al smiling warmly as he reaches for one.


	5. Detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family that cries together stays together, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay! Thanks again to all my readers and I have to warn ya'll again - there is a description of a panic attack in this one along with some fighting. Just a head's up. Until next time!

It's Saturday and we're on our way to Dr. Hughes' house.  We've decided not to go to Elicia's party 'cause of how bad our anxiety has been this week so we're going to see her before it starts.  Dada drives to the house, balloons already sitting out front.  The car stops and we walk to the door.  Winry ended up not being free today.  Granny owns a garage and an employee called in today.  Whenever that happens, Winry usually has to work.  Not that she really minds, though.  Winry's a total gear-head.  She loves mechanics and cars and things like that.  Tonight when she gets off we'll probably go over to play video games.  Probably.  We knock, Dr. Hughes greeting us warmly.  Al's holding a present for Elicia, one he picked out for her.  He's good at that sort of thing.  It's like he knows what kids like.  We went to the mall after dinner yesterday and one panic attack later we had a present for Elicia.  I hope she likes it.  Al picked it out just for her.  We walk to the living room, Gracia smiling warmly at us.  She looks swollen for some reason and it makes me feel nervous.  When people are swollen, it usually means something's wrong.  I don't see any bruises or anything so I guess she didn't get hurt, but I"m still nervous.  She takes the bag from Al, my brother's eyes staring at her belly.  Dad sits down while Dr. Hughes goes to get Elicia so we can see her.  Al's staring hard core at Gracia and she finally notices.  She smiles at him, Al staring blankly at her.

"Are you okay?" She asks gently.  Al blinks and shakes his head.

"I'm sorry," he says, "But do you have a baby in your tummy?"

" _Alphonse!_ " Dad hisses, Gracia chuckling.

"It's all right," she assures Dada. "I do, Al.  I'm pregnant.  Maes was going to tell you on Monday but the cat's out of the bag now."

"Congratulations," Dad says warmly as Al stands. "How far along are you?"  The grown-ups talk about pregnancy stuff while Al inches over to Gracia.  I watch curiously as Al stands closer to her, his hands twitching.  Gracia glances over, smiling warmly at him as his curious eyes watch her belly for some sign of life.

"Do you want to touch my tummy, Al?" Gracia asks with a laugh.  Al nods and I watch as Gracia gently takes his hand in her own.  She guides his hand to her tummy, Al gasping when his hand makes contact.  His eyes are sparkling, his cheeks glowing as he rests his hand on her belly.  Gracia looks over at me and grins.

"Come here, Ed," she instructs. "You can feel my tummy, too, if you want."  I don't do anything at first.  One-on-one conversations with grown-ups freak me out.

"Brother," Al says, looking up at me, "You gotta come feel her tummy!  I think I felt the baby move!"  I nod, deciding I want to feel her belly.  I've always thought that people are pretty amazing.  Having babies sounds pretty terrible and hard but people do it.  They keep a baby inside them for nine whole months and then raise the tiny baby.  Science has found lots of ways to help put babies in people, but has never been able to create life completely artificially; it can't make something from nothing.  Science can't artificially make an egg cell or sperm.  It has to take those things from somebody to create life.  Humans are in a league of their own and I think that's cool.  I walk over and pause, Al smiling warmly as he keeps his hand on her tummy.

"Give me your hand, Ed," she says.  I do, her soft hand pulling my hand toward her belly.  My palm makes contact and my heart stalls.  Inside her, just inches from my hand, is a new life.  I feel her skin move a little and guess that the baby is moving so I bring my ear closer to her belly.  I close my eyes, imagining I can hear the baby's heartbeat somehow through layers of skin.  It's a soft sound, but it's strong.  Gracia pets my hair and for a minute, I imagine she's Mom.

"You're going to have a baby sister," Mom would say.  I'd smile brightly and give her a big hug.  Al would cry happy tears, hugging her when I'm finished.  She would let us help pick out names and Al and me would talk about what kind of person that baby would be.

"So, she told you?"

Dr. Hughes' voice carries into the room and we both look at him.  My fantasy of Mom having a baby melts away and I nod.

"Ed!" Elicia cries, trying to get away from her dad. "Al!"  Dr. Hughes lets her go and she runs over.  She gives us a big hug, giggling as she begs for us to play with her.

"Elicia," Al begins, "We brought you a present for your birthday!" 

"You did?" She squeals happily, Dada talking to the grown-ups about babies. "I wan' it!  Mommy!  I want Ed and Ally's present!"

"All right, sweetie," Gracia laughs, "You can open it now since they aren't staying for your party."  Elicia's face falls.

"You aren't?" She asks us, obviously disappointed.

"No, sorry," I say. "We're kinda busy."

"But, your birthday meant so much to us that we came over before the party so we could see you," Al adds.

"My brothers are the best!" Elicia cries happily.  Since we've known her since she was a baby, Elicia calls us her big brothers.  I know Al likes it a ton.  He's always wanted a younger sibling.

"Here you go, sweetie," Gracia says, handing the gift bag to Elicia.  Elicia laughs wildly, her tiny hands throwing the tissue paper around.  She pulls the present out, grinning broadly.  It's a stuffed bunny with a nice bow tied around it's neck.  Elicia hugs it tight and I know she likes it.

"He's cute!  I love him!" Elicia cries. "Thanks!"  She hugs us both, Dr. Hughes asking if he can see her present.

"You boys want a cupcake?" Gracia asks.

"We don't want to take them away from the kids," I say nervously.

"Ed, she offered," Dada tells me gently. "It's all right."  Al and I talk with our eyes before nodding.

"Okay," I say, taking Al's hand.  We sit down next to Dr. Hughes, Elicia admiring her bunny on Dr. Hughes' lap.

"Want milk?" Gracia asks.

"I do," Al replies instantly. 

"Water's fine," I say.  I hate milk.  It's nasty.

"Can you stay?" Elicia begs. "I gots a new train to play with!"  We want to.  We want to stick around and play with her but I don't think we can.  We're too nervous even though it's stupid.

"I don't think so, sorry," I apologize. "Maybe we can come by a different weekend to play, okay?"

"'Kay," Elicia squeals. "Bring Winry next time!"

"We will," Al promises, Gracia setting the milk and cupcake in front of him. "Thank you," he says.  Gracia ruffles his hair and I can't help but think of Mom.  I do it every time I'm here.  Gracia reminds me of Mom and sometimes I cry when we get in the car because I miss Mom so much.  But I won't cry; not today.  Today, I'm going to be normal and not cry.  Today, I'm going to watch Netflix with Al and watch him build puzzles.  Today, we're going to play video games and maybe go over to Winry's to play  _Assassin's Creed_.  We're going to be happy today.

"So," Gracia begins, Dr. Hughes kissing her cheek as she sits down next to him, "How's school been?  It's been so long since you boys have been over here."  Al takes a finger and scoops up some icing.  I know he's not gonna to talk so I guess I have to.

"Fine," I say. "AP chem is fun and I like math like usual."

"What math class are you in, Ed?" Gracia asks.

"Calculus III," I answer with a smile. "Math makes sense to me.  I'm super excited because next year I get to take AP calculus and then senior year I'll take AP physics."

"Are you on the same track, Al?" She asks.  Al sets his cup down and Elicia giggles because he has a mil mustache.  Al grins and wipes it off.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm a freshmen so I'm in honors bio this year.  Next year, I'll take AP chem and do what Brother did.  I think I'll take anatomy, too, and maybe AP bio 'cause I wanna do something in medicine, like nursing, med school, or vet school."

"That's wonderful," Gracia says, Al smiling like a kid on Christmas. "Your boys are growing into fine young men."

"Thank you," Dada says. "I'm very proud of them."  My mouth feels like it's full of warm sugar again.  It melts away, the sugar getting absorbed into my bloodstream.  I love coming over to see Gracia.  She makes me feel safe.  She reminds me of Mom.  And even though it makes me sad when we leave, I'm the happiest person in the world when I'm at her house.

"Ally's gonna be a doctor!" Elicia cries on Dr. Hughes' lap. "The bestest doctor!"

"Well, maybe," Al says, blushing. "I don't know.  I might change my mind."

"You've got plenty of options," Gracia says. "You boys have so many opportunities.  You're lucky you were born in this generation.  There are so many things you can do in science and math now!"

"I don't know," I say, leaning back in my chair. "There's something special about those early days in science when people were just looking for answers.  I mean, we still are, but can you imagine being Newton?  Or Darwin?  Or Pasteur?  I know I do!  That'd be amazing!"

"Darwin traveled so much," Al says. "He got to see so much of the world.  The world's so big and I've seen none of it."

"You'll see it," Dr. Hughes says. "Don't worry.  The world opens up to you as opportunities arise.  You just have to be awake to see them."

"I'm awake!" Al cries and Dada laughs.  Al's silly.  He always has been.  Even after everything that happened, sometimes he's as silly as he was during the good times.  "I want to see the world!"

"Me, too," I chirp happily.

"You two really are my sons," Dada muses happily.  We both laugh and Al picks his cupcake up.  We keep talking, Al making faces at Elicia with icing smeared all over his cheeks.

The weekend went by way too fast.  After visiting Dr. Hughes, we watched Netflix and made puzzles until we went to Winry's.  Granny ordered pizza (they were half off) and we played video games until Dada came to pick us up.  Winry asked us if we wanted to sleep over and we turned her down.  After what happened Wednesday night, I didn't think it was a good idea.  Sunday we spent playing LEGOs with Al and napping.  Al did his homework and when he was done we watched Netflix until bedtime.  Monday flew by, therapy going better than it did Friday.  Al didn't have much to say or if he did, he didn't say it.  I guess he was still embarrassed about what happened on Friday.  After therapy, he asked Dad if he would get some clay so he could make Dr. Hughes a new bowl.  I hope Dada gets him the clay 'cause it'll make him feel better.  This morning Dada runs by Panera.  We get bagels and since we're running late we don't eat there.  We eat in the car and I remember that I have detention this afternoon.  I stop eating, my stomach in knots.  I'm sweaty and I decide that I'm sick.  I can't go to school.  I'm sick.

"I don't feel good, Dada," I whine. "I need to go home."  Dad looks over at me and frowns.

"You don't feel well?" He asks.  I nod, Al sitting forward in his seat.

"Nuh-uh," I say.  I'm sort of faking, but I don't think Dad will be mad at me.  I'm nervous and he's probably catching on to that.  Dada leans over at a stop light and feels my forehead.

"You don't feel warm, sweetie," Dad says.

"But I don't feel good," I whine loudly.

"Dada, I think Ed should stay home," Al says worriedly.  I feel bad for worrying him but I wanna skip school.  If I do, I won't have to go to detention.

"No, Al, Ed should go to school," Dada replies.

"But I'm sick," I protest.

"You're not running a fever, Ed," Dad says. "You should try to go to school."

"Uh," I struggle, trying to come up with a good excuse, "My anxiety is bad today.  I can't go."

"Edward," Dada says softly, "I know you're nervous about your detention."  I swallow, the bubbles in my throat pushing my words down back into my chest.

"Can I go with him, Dada?" Al asks.

"I don't think so, Al," Dad replies. "You'd have to get one, too, and I don't want that to happen."  He pulls up to school and says, "No more fighting.  No more detentions, okay?"  I nod and Al leans forward even more.

"Dada," he says, "Don't make Ed go to school."

"Honey," Dada begins, "Ed did something wrong last week.  He should take responsibility for it, even if he's scared."  Al blinks and nods.

"Yeah, I guess," Al says softly.

"It's okay, Ally," I say, swallowing my bubbles. "Dad's right.  I should go."  Dad smiles - that proud smile that I can't get enough of - and pats my arm.

"See you after school," he tells us.

"Yup," I reply, getting out of the car.  Al lingers a bit longer before getting out.  We walk inside, Winry greeting us happily.  She asks if we can hang out after school and I remind her that I have to go to detention.

" _Ugh,_ " she groans, her books against her chest, "That's so unfair!"  She turns to look at me and says, "You did the right thing!  What kind of world do we live in where schools punish us for doing the right thing?"

"We're in high school," I remind her, Al laughing. "It's all sorts of unfair."

"Hella scan," Al adds, making a sour face.

"What?" I laugh, Al shaking his head.

"Tried something," Al says, smacking his lips like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. "Didn't like it."

"Teenage slang really doesn't suit you," Winry laughs.  Al grins.

"I can't keep up with what the kids are doing these days," Al says. "All I'm good at are memes."

"'Cause they're legit," I say. "They tell simple truths about our lives."

"Oh,  _whatever_ ," Winry says, rolling her eyes. "It's just a funny picture with a caption or dumb reference."

"No," I argue. "Those ones about doing dishes and shit are funny  _and_ true.  I'm tellin' ya, Win; memes all contain lil' nuggets of truth."

"John Cena," she says with a smirk and I cringe.

"Forgot about him," I say. "Doesn't count."

"You don't define what a meme is," Winry laughs.

"Then who does?" I ask.

"The internet gods," Al answers.  We make it to Al's class, that constant tremor returning to my brother's body.  I punch his arm lightly, Al smiling weakly.

"See you at lunch," I say.  Al nods.

"Mmm," he hums, I ruffle his hair and he laughs softly. "Bye, guys."  He turns and walks into his class so Winry and I go to ours.

The day flies by after that.  At lunch, Al tells me that starting next Tuesday, he's the shelter's newest volunteer if he thinks he can handle it.  He's going to fill everything out next week and test the waters.  If he doesn't think he can handle it, he'll quit.  Explaining why to Mei will be the hard part.  We part ways again, anxiety gnawing at my belly as the day goes on.  Even though everyone's told me that detention's no big deal, that nothing's going to happen to me, I'm scared that it will.  Stupid anxiety.  My afternoon classes are a blur and before I know it, the bell rings.  I meet Al at my locker like usual and pull out the detention slip.  Even though Dad said Al couldn't come, he's going to try anyway.  He can tell I need the support and I'm grateful.  Al and I are good at knowing what the other one needs.  It comes from years of having to take care of each other when no one else would.  I read the room number and we walk there, the bubbles in my throat making it impossible to talk.  I know Al doesn't mind, though.  He's perfectly happy in our silences; he's okay with talking with his eyes or not at all.  We make it to the room and I hesitate.  My breath gets caught in my throat and I begin to wheeze.  Al pulls me aside, my brain freezing up.

"It's okay, Brother," Al tells me gently. "No one's gonna hurt you."  I swallow and nod, Al helping me breathe again.  I thank him with my eyes and we walk in together.  The teacher looks at us, obviously recognizing me and Al and being confused.

"Edward," she greets.  I think she's Al's English teacher.  I don't know.  She smiles at Al and says, "Al.  What brings you two here?"

"Um," I vocalize, my words getting caught again.  Al nudges me but quickly realizes I'm not going to say anything.  He takes the detention slip and hands it to her.

"Brother has a detention today, Ms. Day," Al says.  He leans over the desk and whispers, "He's nervous about it."  Ms. Day grins and nods.

"Never had one before, huh?" She asks.  I shake my head.  "Don't worry.  You'll just sit in here and do homework for an hour."

"Um, Ms. Day?" Al asks, "Can I stay with him?"

"I'm afraid not, Al," she answers. "I'm sorry."

"But he's scared," Al insists. "Can I stay?  Please?"

"Alphonse, you can't and that's final," Ms. Day says, clearly ending the conversation.  I smile wearily at Al and tell him thanks with my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Brother," Al says, guilt dripping from his voice.  I can tell he feels guilty.  I can tell he feels bad 'cause I did so much for him growing up and feels bad that he can't do this simple thing for me.  I wish I could tell him that it's okay; that he has done more than enough for me.  That he doesn't need to feel guilty.  But I can't.  Those dumb bubbles keep me from speaking, even though I want to say something with everything that I am.  Instead I hug him, my fingers gripping his clothes until he pulls away.

"I'll wait for you in the library," he tells me.  I nod and he pats my head.  "See you in an hour," he says, turning to leave.  I wave and take a seat, my hands shaking.  There's a few kids I recognize but most of them I've never seen before.  I pull out my math home, trying to focus on numbers rather than the terrible anxiety I'm feeling.  Numbers are safe for me.  They're familiar.  They make sense.  I work on my homework, Ms. Day occasionally yelling because kids won't shut up.  It's supposed to be quiet.  Every time she yells, my heart almost explodes.  I can't handle yelling.  When someone yells, I get pulled away.  When someone yells, I can hear Al crying and glass shattering.  I see  _her_ figure in the doorway, lunging at me.  I hate yelling.

The hour's almost up and my homework's done.  I got it all done ten-ish minutes ago and Ms. Day's finally done yelling.  But there are some kids behind me who have been arguing in heated whispers the whole time.  I keep glancing back at them, but their whole demeanor freaks me out.  They're angry and intimidating, threatening each other under their breath.  I guess they don't like each other.  I don't know.  I try to focus on the clock, to block out their threats which are getting increasingly louder.  I cover my ears, trying not to get pulled back.  I'm at school, not at home.   _She's_ in prison.   _She_ can't hurt me.   _She_ can't hurt Al.  I'm safe.  I'm at school.  I'm safe.  Safe.  My breathing hitches as they kids behind me stand.  One of them shoves the other, the kid's back hitting the desk behind me.  And that's it.  My heart pounds wildly and I can't breathe.  I'm getting pulled back.  Their shouts morph into  _her_ voice and their smacks are suddenly on Al's skin.  I hurry under the desk, the rational side of me desperately trying to block them out.

"I'm safe," I whisper in a hoarse voice, tears running down my face.  The fight gets worse, people yelling.  I shudder, their voices becoming  _hers_ in my mind.

"No one likes you, damn it!"

"Just leave me the fuck alone!"

"You fucking idiot!"

I take a strangled breath, the walls inching closer to me.  Al's crying, begging for someone to help as  _she_ hits him.  I'm a scared little kid, unable to do anything to stop it.  The kids crash into some chairs and I yelp.  I curl into a ball under my desk, trying desperately to disappear.  There's some wresting going on and I do my best to ignore it while I fight for air.

"Stop it!" Ms. Day yells.  I lift my head, the fighting ending.  The resource officer is here and the kids have all scattered.  I stay under the desk, trembling violently, as the kids all leave.  Ms. Day must have noticed that I'm under a desk because she's looking right at me.  "Ed?"  I shake my head and wipe my face.  I try to sit up but hit my head on the desk.

"Damn it!" I cry, my head throbbing.  I crawl out from under the desk, my breathing ragged.  Ms. Day looks at me worriedly.

"You're shaking," she comments. "Are you okay?"

"F-Fine," I stutter. "I, uh, just have anxiety."

"Oh," she says. "I'm sorry."  I blink, unsure of what I want to say.  Or if the bubbles will even let me talk.  They probably won't.  My shaking hands put my stuff in my backpack and my hand brushes up against my blanket.  I wanna go home.

"Is... is detention over?" I ask with a shaking voice.  She looks at me as I put my backpack on.  "I wanna go home."  I leave without waiting for a response from her.  I hurry down the hall, knowing that as soon as I get in Dada's car, I'll be safe to breakdown.  I practically run to the library and search for Al.  He's sitting at a desk, studying, and I hurry over.

"Al," I breathe.  Al looks up and grins.

"Hey," he says and instantly he knows I'm upset.  He stands and shoves his things in his backpack.  He grabs my hand and says, "Let's go home."  I nod, my face quivering.  Al hurries through the halls and we make it outside.  We spot Dad's car and practically run to it.  As soon as we're in I breakdown, the most pathetic wailing escaping me.  Dad looks worriedly at me before turning to Al.

"What happened?" Dada asks as I sob in the front seat.  Al shrugs.

"I don't know," Al says.  I try to calm down as Dada drives but I can't.  I can't breathe.  My lungs won't work!

"Breathe, honey," Dad encourages, a hand slipping from the steering wheel and holding mine. "You have to breathe."  His soft voice pulls me back from the dark place I was in.  I see that Al is safe (though worried) in the back seat and that Dada's holding my hand.  I'm safe.  Finally safe.  The tears stop and I wipe my face with my free hand.

"What happened, Brother?" Al asks worriedly. "Did someone hurt you?"

"No," I croak. "Some dumb ass kids were fighting.  Freaked me out."

"Oh, baby," Dad sighs, his thumb running across my hand. "I'm sorry." I shrug.  This is my normal.  Yeah, it sucks, but I'm used to it.  But Dad doesn't apologize very often and I'm confused.  I look over and swear that I see tears.

"Dada!" I cry worriedly.  He wipes his face.

"Sorry," he says softly. "It's just I can't help but take the blame for all this.  If I had just  _been_ there, none of this would have happened.  I'm so sorry, boys."  And that's it.  Dad parks the car on the shoulder of the road and all three of us cry until our lungs hurt.

As a family, we've never talked about the abuse.  It's something Al and I keep locked up tight, far away from everyone.  If people see, even Dad, they'll treat us differently.  So, not even Dada knows about the basement or the trunk or the chain.  He doesn't know anything.  Because we've never told him.  I guess part of it is so that he doesn't feel more guilty than he already does.  It's not  _all_ his fault.  It was us who never told anyone and us who were bad.  Part of it is because of what happened when Al was in first grade.  Part of it was that we were scared.  Part of it is that Granny was actually suspicious and called the cops a lot but nothing ever happened.  Teacher called the cops, too, but like with Granny nothing ever happened.   _She_ always got away with it.  Always.  So, Dada can only blame himself to an extent.  He can blame himself for not being there and not noticing that we were suffering.  But hardly anyone did.  I think about all this as I stare at the ceiling.  My room's dark, Al sleeping beside me.  I can't sleep.  All I can think about is this afternoon.  All three of us cried like the biggest babies today.  Even Dada cried.  That was weird.

I stroke Lamby's ear and sigh.  Our family's so dysfunctional.  It didn't used to be.  Everything got weird when Mom died and then got shitty when  _she_ came into the picture.  But for five years - five wonderful years - our family was normal.  It was healthy.  I sit up and stare at Al.  He's sleeping, his chest rising and falling with every breath.  I can't help but think of all the nights he couldn't sleep; the nights we spent quivering in fear.  He looks so young and peaceful when he's sleeping.  He looks like the boy he could be.  I wonder if I look like that, too, when I sleep.  I sigh, my head rolling back and staring at the ceiling.  Those plastic glow-in-the-dark stars are still stuck on the ceiling 'cause Al's scared of the dark.  I look at them and for some reason decide to visit Teacher.  She was there for us when we had next to no one and did her best to keep us fed and clean.  It didn't always work because  _she_ would find us at Teacher's house and drag us away but it's the effort that matters to me.  I know I should sleep.  We have school tomorrow and then group.  I'm telling more of the story tomorrow.  I'm going to tell them about the morning after That Night.  Part of me isn't sure I really can after the bizarre week I've had but I'm gonna try.  I lay down, still watching Al sleep.  I have to be brave.  I have to be brave for him.  He's been so brave lately.  The least I can do is emulate it.


	6. Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed tells more of his story to the group. Hohenheim throws a bomb at him. Things are changing. Can Ed and Al handle it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - there's depictions of child abuse in the first half of this chapter. If that makes you uncomfortable, it's better to skip the first half. I don't have anything else to say so enjoy!

I can barely remember school as Dad drives us to the doctor building. It's group day and I'm still planning on telling the next part of the story. I just hope I don't take up too much time. I think I'll just talk about the morning after That Night but I'm not sure. That's all I can think of to talk about. I mean, I set up this whole story and left them hanging with me and Al sleeping in the dog house in our back yard. But it's after That Night that things really got hard for Al and me. It was after That Night that our world truly and completely changed. That Night was just a catalyst; a preview of the nightmare that would be our lives for seven years. Like always Dad drops us off and we walk in. Dr. Hughes greets us warmly and we take our usual seats. The kids that beat us there all stare, waiting for me to say something. I smile weakly at them and they smile back. I'm not sure why, but that makes me feel better considering what I'm about to do. I've decided that I'll wait to see if anyone's gonna talk before I do. That seems like the fair thing to do. Let them lead the conversation and jump in when I feel like no one's gonna talk. Part of me hopes the other kids will talk the whole time while another part wishes that no one would speak so I could tell my story. I wish that I wasn't at war with myself all the time. But I am. I have been for two years and I don't see that changing anytime soon.

Like most weeks, the whole group isn't all there until five minutes after group's supposed to start. Dr. Hughes asks if there are any new members like he always does before he opens the floor. Instantly every eye turns to me. I wish I could disappear as everyone stares at me, waiting for me to tell my story. It's obvious they haven't forgotten about the two little kids who had to sleep in a dog house and want to know what happened to them. I decide to give it another minute. I really don't want to hog the hour again like last week. I mean, I'm glad I did, but still. It's rude or something. Not really sure. I just think that everyone should get to say something if they want to. I shouldn't be the only one who talks. But as the seconds tick by, it becomes clear that no one is going to talk. They continue to stare and I look at Al. We talk briefly with our eyes and I ask if he wants to tell the story. He tells me no because he likes the way I tell stories. I sigh and lean back in my chair, knowing I have little choice.

"Okay," I say, everyone on the edge of their seats. "I guess you guys want to hear what happened after That Night." There's a small murmur, confirming that yeah; that's what they want.

"Go ahead," Dr. Hughes says and I nod.

"Alright," I say. Al takes my hand because he knows I'm scared and I set my watch for thirty minutes so I don't take up the whole hour again. I take a deep breath and say, "The sun is what woke us up that morning.

"We crawled out of the dog house, wondering if Vanessa was going to let us back in the house or not. We walked to the porch, peering inside the house through the sliding glass door. There was no sign that she was awake yet but we were cold. We were hungry. But the sliding glass door was still locked so we were stuck. I sat down, Al sitting next to me. I stared at our back yard, counting snow piles with Al to keep him calm. The last thing I wanted was for him to freak out. Vanessa was officially unpredictable. We had seen her good side and last night we had seen her very bad side. Since we didn't know what side we were on yet, I decided that keeping Al calm was the best thing.

"Our stomachs growled and I remembered that I had school. I guessed that I was late already just judging by the sun's position. I remember that I got sad because while I cried myself to sleep the night before I thought about how great school would be because I would get away from her, if only for a little while. After a few more minutes of waiting, the door opened. Al and I stood at the same time, our scared eyes staring up at her while we waited to see what she was going to do. She gestured inside and we obeyed. I didn't want to know what would happen if we didn't. We followed her in, shaking as we waited to see what she was gonna do.

'Enjoy your night?' She asked. Neither of us did anything and she smirked at us. 'Ed, go to the bathroom and you better use it.' I nodded and hurried off, leaving Al alone. I actually did have to pee and pretty bad too. I just refused to pee in the dog house or outside in the yard because I wasn't a dog. I made it just in time and washed my hands. When I came back to the living room, I couldn't find Vanessa and Al. I glanced around and was confused. But my voice had disappeared over night so I wasn't capable of speaking right then. I heard dishes in the kitchen so I walked in. Al was standing near the table, squirming. That was one of the first times we talked with our eyes, I think. I remember I looked worriedly at him and when our eyes meet he told me so many things without using words. I could smell bacon and instantly my stomach growled. Al danced on his feet, whimpering as he waited to see if Vanessa would let him pee like she let me pee.

'Alphonse, bathroom,' she commanded. Al bolted out of the room and I stayed still. I watched her cook, the yummy fumes teasing my empty tummy. The sizzle of the meat made my stomach twist eagerly.

'I have school,' I reminded her timidly, the smell of food reminding me that I had school. 'And Ally has preschool today.' Vanessa didn't respond. She kept cooking and my voice disappeared. It was like I had never even said anything. To her, I probably didn't. I decided as Al returned that I wasn't going to talk again. But Al; Al was wearing new clothes and had his backpack on his back.

'Who's gonna take me to preschool?" Al asked. Vanessa slammed what she was holding down on the counter as if our voices caused her pain.

'You're not going,' she snapped, draining the bacon grease into a Tupperware container.

'Dada puts it in jars,' I told her. 'Then when it's full, we throw it away.'

'You think I don't know that, you brat?' She demanded. I flinched, backing away as she approached with the container of grease. I shook my head, my throat closing.

''M s-sorry,' I squeaked, Al quivering as she loomed over me.

'You should be,' she told me. With her free hand she grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin. My heart beat wildly in my chest, threating to explode as she stood there with a container full of hot grease. It took her a minute, but finally she tipped it over, the liquid pouring out. It hit my skin, burning it instantly. I screamed, struggling to get away from her. My free hand slid across hers, her hand stronger than I was. Al was crying, wishing he could do something but being too scared to move. She didn't pour much of it on me, but poured enough that I already had a blister forming on my arm.

'You have a nasty attitude, Edward,' she said, walking off. 'You have to remember that I'm the adult, you naughty boy.' Al hurried over to me, his hand hovering over the burn.

'It's hot,' Al whispered. He was still crying, his whole body quivering. 'I'm sorry, Brother.'

'I'm okay,' I lied, a smile on my face. 'It doesn' hurt that bad, promise.' Vanessa placed a plate of food on the table and we waited for her to put our food on the table too. She poured three glasses of milk and I knew better than to argue with her. She knew I hated milk. There was a weird smell mixed in, one that I thought I recognized but didn't know the name of. She set the glasses down and I noticed that the glass near her plate was whiter than the others.

'Sit,' she instructed. We stayed still for a moment before we obeyed. We sat down, staring longingly at her food as the weird milk burned the hair in my nose. She started eating and that's when I knew we weren't getting fed.

'Drink your milk, Ally,' I instructed.

'It smells funny,' Al said, his lip upturned in a grimace.

'So ungrateful,' Vanessa tutted, her tongue clicking at us. 'You're lucky I gave you milk at all.' Al stared at her and she said, 'No wonder Vic hates you. He always talks about how hard it is to take care of you dumb brats because you disapprove of everything he does.' My heart stalled. Dad didn't hate us, did he? Dad always tickled us and told stories and tucked us in at night. But for some reason, her words pierced my heart further than any of the things Dada had done for me. For some reason, it was easier to believe that he hated me when I had no evidence to back that up. Al lifted his glass, staring at the strange milk inside. It was kind of grey almost and smelled like soap. I remember thinking that maybe she put soap inside it. But also remember thinking that we'd probably get in trouble if we didn't drink the milk. So Al took the first drink, gagging as it went down.

'Ow,' he whimpered. I glanced over at him and took a drink too. It instantly burned my throat and I gagged too. It tasted soapy and I knew then it wasn't milk at all. It was some kind of soap, probably soap used to clean clothes or something.

'Is there a problem, boys?' She asked, taunting us with the food she was eating. Tears filled my eyes but I shook my head. Al took another sip because he was thirsty, but he quickly learned that it did nothing to soothe the burn in his throat. I leaned over to him and covered my mouth with my hand so I could whisper to him.

'Don' drink anymore,' I told him. 'I'll do it. We'll get water from the bathroom later.' Al nodded, but he looked guilty.

'I can do it,' he insisted, his tiny voice shaking.

'No, Ally,' I said. 'Let me do it for you.' We stopped whispering, Al fumbling with his shirt. I tried to chug whatever was in my cup but found I couldn't. I spluttered as it went down, the liquid running down my face. I wiped it off, Vanessa watching me with an amused face. She was enjoying it. She thought it was funny. She made a face at Al and that's when I knew I couldn't do it for him. He had to drink it, just like I did. His tiny shaking hands reached for the cup again and he took a drink. He coughed wildly, his grip slipping on the cup. He dropped it on the table, the cup bouncing as whatever was inside spilled across the table. Vanessa glared dangerously at him, Al sinking further into his seat.

'Sorry,' he whispered, hiding his face as Vanessa stood. I watched her approach, unsure of what she was going to do. The most she had done is scream at us, push us down, and she slapped Al once. But somehow I knew as her shadow engulfed Al's shaking body that she was capable of some much more. Somehow I knew that we had it easy last night.

"She grabbed Al by the hair and threw him down. He hit the tile floor, crying out as his face smacked the floor. Vanessa hovered over him, her chest heaving as Al struggled to get away. I watched in horror as her foot made contact with his side, Al screaming as she sped up. Soon she was wailing on him, her fists bouncing off his tender skin. She roared at him, yelling at him for dropping the cup which didn't even break. It was plastic. She hit him for a couple minutes before I blinked. My legs hadn't been working but suddenly I was on the floor. I had slid off the chair and I darted over. I got in between Vanessa and Al, a smile spreading across her face. Instead of lifting me out of the way like I was afraid she was going to, she shoved me down. She switched to hitting me, Al sitting up and groaning. His face was swollen, his eyes widening when he saw what was happening. He covered his face, bawling loudly as Vanessa hit me.

"The beating didn't last much longer. She forced the rest of the weird milk down my throat and told us to stay out of trouble. She gave us this schedule, one that we were to follow to the letter or we'd regret it. I didn't want to think about what she would do to us if we failed to follow it. It was chores, chores that spanned the entire day. There was only one place during the day that wasn't chores. Around midday there was a potty break. That was the only break we had. The schedule only went until Vanessa came home from work in the afternoon and I didn't want think about what would happen when she came back. I read the schedule a couple times, unable to comprehend everything on it. She used words that I couldn't read yet. But we tried. We tried to follow her ridiculous schedule. Two hours after she left, though, Al had to go potty. He tried to hold it until the break we had but in the end decided to go potty. I waited for him to finish and we kept working. During the scheduled break we had, we decided to eat lunch. What Vanessa didn't know wouldn't hurt her. I made sandwiches for Al and me and we had juice to go with it. Since one of our chores was doing dishes, we figured that we'd be able to wash the dishes before she got home.

"About two hours after lunch, we both began to feel sick. Our tummies gurgled and twisted, both of us doubled over in pain. I was miserable, having had more of that weird milk than Al did. My stomach tied itself in knots and I hurried to the bathroom. Al sat outside, waiting for me. Everything I ate came out of me, and I knew I had made a mistake. Now Vanessa would know. She would know we didn't follow the schedule because we were sick. She would know we ate, even if we got the dishes done. She forced us to drink that soap so that when we'd eat, we'd get sick and she would know we didn't follow her schedule. When I was finished, Al hurried in after me. I waited for him, my heart beating rapidly. I didn't know what was going to happen to us when she got home. Plus, I still felt awful, my stomach hurting worse than it ever had before. My whole body hurt from the beating and I was still nauseous. Al came out, his pale face covered in sweat.

'I wan' Dada,' he whined. Dada! I remembered then that we could call Dada and tell him everything. I grinned and hurried to the phone. The number of the hotel he was staying at was near the phone and I dialed it. I didn't realize that when the bill came Vanessa would know that I called and that she'd beat me for it. The phone rang and soon, Dada answered.

'Hello?' He asked.

'Dada!" I cried, tears running down my face.

'Ed?' He questioned. 'What's the matter? Why aren't you in school?' My brain froze. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him the truth. 'Ed?' He pressed worriedly. What could I tell him? If I told him what was happening, he'd ask Vanessa about it and I figured that she wouldn't confirm my story and I'd get in trouble. I didn't know what to do, but knew that calling Dada was a mistake.

'I-I,' I struggled, trying to figure out what I wanted to say. Al was tugging on my clothes, whining wordlessly as I said, 'I'm…. Sick.'

'I'm sorry, baby,' Dada said.

'Can you come home?' I pleaded. Even though I was scared to tell him, I figured that Vanessa wouldn't hurt us if Dada was at home.

'I can't, honey, I'm sorry,' Dad replied. 'I'll be home in four days and when I am, I'll tell you boys about the huge cuckoo clock I saw the other day.' I giggled softly, wincing as the action hurt both my face and my throat which was raw from whatever was in that weird milk.

'Okay,' I said, Al tugging furiously on my clothes. I turn to him and snapped, 'What?!' He shakily pointed to the door, Vanessa walking up from the driveway. 'Oh, no,' I said.

'What's wrong?' Dada asked, Vanessa searching her keys for the right one. I searched quickly for a lie.

'Al's sick too,' I said quickly. 'He just threw up. Gotta go. Bye, Dada.' I didn't wait for the traditional 'I love you' before hanging up. I hurried over to Al and grabbed his hand. I looked at the schedule, unable to read what she wanted us to do at that point in the day and decided to do dishes. Al and I climbed up on to the counter as she opened the door. Al put the stopper in the sink and the water started, Vanessa walking in on us.

'It's not time for the dishes,' she said with a dangerous voice. I swallowed hard, wincing because it hurt.

'S-Sorry,' I stuttered. 'I c-can't r-r-read s-some of the w-words.' She shook her head.

'And I thought you were smart,' she sighed in disappointment. She grabbed us both and forced us upstairs. She smashed our faces into the full-length mirror in our room, making us say over and over how we were bad. After that we stood in front of that mirror and she didn't relieve us 'til morning."

I stop talking, my watch beeping. I had set a timer for thirty minutes so I guess my time's up. The whole room is silent, staring at me. I shake my head and fall back into my seat. Why is my story the only one they want to hear? I don't get it. Maybe it's 'cause I was brave first and told mine when everyone else was too scared to talk. But it wasn't me who was brave. It was Al. Al was brave, not me. Dr. Hughes clears his throat and asks if anyone else would like to say something. To my surprise, someone does. They talk about why they're here and how hard it's been. They thought they were alone; that no one else had seen what they had seen. They thought they were the only one who had to pick up the pieces of long term abuse. It was her dad. Her dad hit her and her little brother. Her brother's dead now and she blames herself. She starts crying, wailing how she didn't do enough to protect him. Her dad was drunk one night and beat her brother until he stopped breathing. I shiver, thinking of how that could have been me and Al. How maybe one night she could have beat Al 'til he stopped breathing. After she opens up, a twelve-year-old kid opens up about sexual abuse and all I can think about is Al. She could have killed him then I would be that girl; sobbing that it's my fault Al's dead. I squeeze his hand, grateful that for all my failure, I managed to do something right.

Group ends and the idea of Al being dead is still on my mind. We talk with Dr. Hughes like normal but my words are thin. All I want to do is give Al a big hug; to tell him I'm so relieved that he made it out alive. Finally, Dad comes in to pick us up and he does his weekly chat with Dr. Hughes. I take Al's hand and hurry outside. As soon as we make it out I wrap my limbs around him. I start shaking, the thought that he might have died because of my weakness too much for me to bear. Al seems stunned but soon he returns the hug. His face rests on my shoulder, his ever shaking hands petting my back.

"You okay?" He asks. I nod.

"I am now," I say, pulling away.

"Lindsay's story really got to you, huh?" Al asks softly. I take his hand and nod.

"You could say that," I tell him. I run a hand through my hair and sigh. "It's just…. The thought of you being dead like her brother really got to me. That could have been you." Al blinks.

"Well, I guess," he says. "But it wasn't."

"But it could have been," I insist. "I was so weak, Al. I didn't do enough to protect you. There were so many times were I walked in on her beating you and there was no telling when she had started! You could have been dead and it would have been my fault!" Al smiles at me, that gentle smile he's always had. It makes my heart slow down, helps me to breathe normally.

"Brother," he says, "You did more than enough for me growing up." He takes my hand and places it on his chest. I can faintly feel his heart beating and he says, "I'm right here, Ed. Nothing's going to change that." I blink away tears and smile.

"Thanks, Al," I say. He nods and I say, "Wanna visit Teacher?" Al nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah!" He cries happily. "It's been too long." I grin, feeling pretty pleased with myself. I like it when I can make Al happy. He deserves it more than anyone I know.

"Great," I say. "Hope she doesn't mind us dropping in unannounced." Al laughs.

"Has she ever?" He chuckles. I shrug.

"No, but it was different back then," I say.

"She won't mind," Al says confidently. "She'll be happy that we came to see her."

"You boys ready to go?" Dada asks, walking over.

"Dada!" Al cries, "Let's go see Teacher!"

"Did you ask her to come over?" Dad asks. Al's face falls and he shakes his head.

"N-No," he says softly.

"Dada, it's fine," I interject, trying to keep Al from melting down. "She won't mind."

"You don't know that, Ed," he reminds me.

"You could call her," I point out. "Please, Dad? It's been forever since we've seen Teacher!" Dad shakes his head and pulls out his phone. He walks to the car, opening the door with his phone to his ear. I grin eagerly at Al and get in too. Al sits in the back, leaning forward as we wait for Teacher to answer her phone.

"Hi, Izumi," Dad greets warmly. Dad really likes Teacher. She was someone who came into our lives when we needed it most. When I was nine, I decided to take martial arts. I looked for a teacher online and didn't find a dojo close enough to our house that we could just walk to. But I did find a woman named Izumi Curtis. She had won a ton of awards and stuff, so I wrote her address down. Al and me went to her house and begged her to teach us. She did.

"Nothing's wrong," Dad assures her. "The boys were just wondering if you were at home. They'd like to visit if you are." I wait, my heart slowing. "Great," Dada says and I exhale happily. "We'll be right over." Dad puts his phone down and grins.

"Yes!" I cheer. It really has been too long since we've seen Teacher. We took martial arts with her until two years ago. After that Dad thought it was best to focus on therapy. I was really mad about that.

"They're even feeding us," Dada tells us.

"Awesome," Al says happily. "Sig's a great cook!"

"I've really missed his cooking," I agree. Sig is Teacher's husband. He's a chef and a butcher and the nicest man I've ever met I think. Even when we smelled bad and were twitchy, he played with us. He ruffled our nasty hair and tickled us and threw us in the air so we'd cheer up.

"I've never properly thanked them for what they did," Dada says. "They did so much for you."

"You know Teacher doesn't want you to thank her," I remind him.

"Oh, I know, Ed," he says. "But still – it's polite to thank people who do you a service." Al's brow furrows.

"We could cook her dinner," he says, covering his mouth with his hand after the words left his mouth. He shakes his head, looking down like it was bad he said what he said.

"That might be nice," Dada ponders. "But since I'm so bad at cooking, it might be better if we took her out."  
"Or Al and me could do it," I suggest, Al glancing up at me.

"Can you cook, Ed?" Dad asks with a chuckle. I recoil in my seat.

"Well, no, not really," I answer, "But I can make mac and cheese and hot dogs and there can be biscuits and wine."

"Red or white?" Dad laughs.

"I don't know," I say, laughing too. "What'd you think Ally? Red or white wine?"

"What about sparkling grape juice?" Al asks quietly. "That way me and Brother can have some. Besides, I don't think there's any wine that goes with mac and cheese and hot dogs."

"If you two are serious, we'll do it," Dad tells us. "We'll clean the house, get enough food to feed all five of us, get some sparkling grape juice, and that can be our thank you." I nod. I can't help but think that Teacher really doesn't want a thank you. Us being alive and us getting better is enough for her. But Dad seems set on it and I guess it makes sense. It makes sense that he'd want to thank one of the only people who helped us during our dark times because she was intuitive enough to know that something was wrong.

We make it to Teacher's house and Al's practically vibrating with excitement. Teacher doesn't live that far away from us which is why I picked her all those years ago. I wasn't sure what I was looking to gain when I decided I wanted to take martial arts. When I was nine, my self-confidence was at an all-time low. I looked like I was like six, I always smelled bad if Dada wasn't around, I felt like I couldn't do anything right, and I was constantly getting beaten. While I'm still small (I look about twelve and Al is small for his age, too. Comes with years of not getting enough to eat.) and I still feel like I can't do anything right, I'm in a better place now. Anyway, I guess that maybe I was looking for a way to feel better. Or maybe I wanted to know I had a way to effectively fight back, to hurt her back when she hurt Al or hurt me. I don't know. I'll probably never know. Whatever the reason, I'm glad I found Teacher. We knock on her door and Sig answers it. He ruffles our hair and comment how we've grown a bit since last time he saw us. It's been a couple months. We've been so busy the last couple years trying to pick up the pieces from our childhood that we've neglected visiting Teacher and Sig. I know they don't mind, but I still feel guilty sometimes. Sig leads us inside and we sit on her couch.

"Izumi," Sig calls, "The boys are here." Sig turns to us and says, "Izumi's been resting all day." Teacher's sick. She's sick like Mom was. But unlike Mom who at least got to have a couple babies before her body destroyed that part of her, Teacher had to give birth to a stillborn and have, like, three miscarriages before her doctor figured out what was wrong. She's in remission – has been since we met her – but somedays she's still too weak to move.

"How is she?" Dad asks.

"Fine," Sig sighs, sitting down. "I worry that maybe the cancer's returned but every time we go in she's fine. I think she's depressed but she won't admit that because she's stubborn."

"Is it 'cause she can't have babies?" Al asks.

"Alphonse!" Dad snaps, Al recoiling. Sig simply rests his hand on Al's head and smiles.

"Yes," Sig answers, his massive hand petting Al's head. "It's alright, Mr. Elric. Ally doesn't mean any harm."

"I know," Dad replies. "But still – he needs to be more…delicate sometimes."

"I don't know," Teacher says, standing suddenly in the doorway. "I always found that Al was too delicate for his own good."

"Teacher!" I cry, Teacher walking into the room and sitting down.

"Hey, boys," she greets. "How are you?"

"Fine," we say at the same time.

"That's good," she says, falling in her seat. "It's been so long since I've seen you. Are you both eating? Are you getting enough sleep? How's school?" It may not seem like it, but Teacher's a big ol' softie. She's got this rough outside; an outside that Al and me were scared of at first. She yelled a lot and always seemed angry. But the more time we spent with her, the more we noticed the little things. When our form was wrong, she didn't yell. Teacher would just gently fix what was wrong or show us the right way to do it. When we'd do homework at her house and cry because we were frustrated, she'd help us. If we got scared or had a panic attack at her house, she walked us through it and reminded us to breathe. Teacher's nice. It just takes a while to see it.

"Yeah," I say. "School's fine. Too easy like usual." Teacher laughs.

"You're too much of a cynic, Ed," she tells me. "Sometimes we need to take it easy so we're energized for the hard things ahead."

"I like school," Al chirps happily. "Biology is fascinating."  
"Still considering vet school?" Sig asks.

"Mmm," Al nods, a happy hum escaping his lips. "Yup."

"And Ed; you're still thinking about chemical engineering, right?" Teacher asks.

"Yup," I say. "AP chem has been a breeze so far. I think it's fair to say that I'll jump right into orgo in undergrad."

"Perhaps," Teacher agrees, "But right now you're in high school. Make sure you make the most of the time you have before it's gone. You're only a child once, Ed. Remember that." I nod, knowing that she knows I already know that. She just feels like she has to remind me 'cause she knows how I feel about high school. She knows I think it's stupid. But she also knows that I'm in no hurry to grow up. I missed seven years of happy childhood and I'm going to make every second of what I have left count.

"I'm making steak for dinner," Sig tells us. "Any objections?" Al and I exchange glances and grin.

"Nope," we both say.

"Izumi, Sig," Dada begins, "The boys and I were thinking that perhaps you should come over for dinner at our house."

"That sounds lovely," Teacher says. "We'll have to let you know what days work best and work it out."

"Sig," Al says, "Can I help?" Sig ruffles Al's hair and I can tell my brother's melting at the touch.

"Sure," he says. "Wanna help, Eddo?" I nod, a stupid grin on my face.

"Yeah," I say.

"Before you go, I need to tell you boys something," Teacher says. I can't tell if it's a bad something or a good something just by her voice and I get anxious. What if the cancer spread? What if she's moving? I can't handle things changing, not when my life is finally normal. We're getting closer to being a normal family and if something changes, I don't know if I can recover from that.

"What?" Al says anxiously, his voice wavering. I know Al feels the same way I do. He just wants things to stay the way they are while we get better.

"Well, Sig and I applied to be foster parents a little while ago," Teacher tells us, a smile on her face. "We've just finished licensing."

"Huh?" I ask stupidly. Teacher smiles at me.

"I've seen what you boys have been through," she begins. "There are so many children who have been through similar things that don't have a family to turn to. They're in foster care and they'll rot in there. If Sig and I can't have children of our own, the least we can do is open our homes to children who need it."

"What about us?" Al cries. His eyes widen and he looks at his shoes.

"Al," Dad breathes, shocked that Al would say that. What Teacher and Sig are doing is wonderful. He can't understand why we'd feel threatened by it. But we are threatened by it. For nearly four years Teacher and Sig made us feel safe. They fed us and kept us clean. They cared about us. Our relationship is special and we're both scared that a foster kid will ruin it. Teacher just smiles, though, and gets up. She walks over to Al and takes his shaking hands in hers.

"No matter what happens or who lives in this house, you'll always be special to me," she tells him softly. "No one can replace you or Ed in my heart, Al. We just want to give other kids a family." Al chokes and tries to wipe tears away.

"You're so nice," he says, though I know he wants to say more. Teacher kisses his forehead.

"You gonna be okay?" She asks Al. Al nods and Teacher says, "You're both okay with it?" We both nod.

"Yeah," I say. Al pulls away from Teacher, a smile on his face.

"You're supposed to be a mom," he adds. "I'm sorry for what I said."

"It's alright," she assures him. "We're family." Al smiles broadly, that smile that I'm seeing more and more of lately and I smile too. We are family. And it feels so good that we are.

Dinner goes by quickly and we hang out at Teacher's house for a while. We talk about school, work, and taking up martial arts. Dad things we should wait just a little longer and that kinda pisses me off. He has no idea what martial arts did for me and Al. It gave us something to look forward to each week. It gave us purpose when we had none. Al and I beg and Dada doesn't budge. Whatever. We'll try again in a few weeks. I don't know why he thinks therapy is more important than something that literally gave us a reason to get out of bed for four years. Dad just doesn't get a lot of things. He tries so hard, but in the end he just doesn't understand. I guess I can't expect him to. You don't understand unless you've been there and I'd never wish this on anyone. Not even my worst enemies. Not that I have any of those, but if I did I wouldn't wish it on them.

We get home and Al and I do homework for a while. It doesn't take long, so we decide to play video games until bed. I pull out Smash Bros. and Al agrees whole-heartedly. I start it up, knowing exactly who Al will pick to play as. Pikachu. He'll pick Pikachu. He always has, ever since the Nintendo 64 version. I tend to always pick Link, but Bowser's fun too. Al picks Pikachu like I predicted so I pick Link. Since there's only two of us, we put on computer players. Captain Falcon and Fox. That's who we always pick. Captain Falcon's just a goober and makes funny noises when he dies. So he's always in. I'm not sure why we pick Fox, but we do. We pick a stage, button mashing until Dad comes in. We've been playing for a few minutes, Dad sitting down and watching. I tell him that we can stop if he wants but he says no. For some reason he wants to watch us play. I'm confused but don't think too much of it. Sometimes Dada just sits and watches us do things. Says he's "making up for lost time". We play a couple more rounds, Al winning the last couple and making me mad.

"I'm done," I say, Al laughing.

"C'mon," he says, "One more."

"Nah, it's late, Al," I say, Al groaning. He knows I hate losing and that's why I don't want to play. He knows all my excuses. Dang. Al puts up with a lot.

"Actually, boys," Dad says, "Could I talk to you?" His voice sounds weird. I'm not sure how, but it does. He's probably got bad news or something which makes me anxious. We set our controllers down, Al shaking already.

"What's up, Dad?" I ask, knowing Al might throw up if he tries to talk.

"Well, I, um," Dad struggles and I can tell he's nervous about something.

"Are you going away?" I ask, a lump in my throat. I hate that I'm such a baby about him going away. But I am. All because of her.

"No, nothing like that," Dada says. My brow furrows and Dad takes a deep breath. "I've met someone." My brain freezes. I get pulled back, back to when Dad said the same thing when he met her. My hands are sweating and I think my heart is going to burst from my chest. I glance over at Al who's pale and shaky.

"What?" I ask.

"The chemistry chair retired last year as you know and they woman they hired, well, she's…." Dad trails off, obviously sensing our distress. He rubs the back of his neck and sighs. "Nothing's happened between us. Nothing will happen between us until you give me the okay." I blink. He wants us to okay him dating? Shouldn't it be the other way around? But given his history with dating, I guess it makes sense that he'd want to run it by us first. I shake my head, my brain unable to form sentences. I want to say something, anything, but I can't.

"Dada," Al says softly. "Do you like her?" I look over at Al, shocked that Al said anything, let alone that.

"I do," Dad replies, a smile on his face. I stand, my body shaking. They both stare at me, my chest heaving.

"No," I say, my voice shaking.

"Ed," Dad says, reaching for my arm. I yank it away, fear consuming me. But more than fear, is anger. I'm angry; no, furious, that Dad would think that throwing another woman into our messed up lives is a good idea.

"Shut up!" I yell, both of them staring at me. "You don't get to date, not after what happened!" Tears begin falling, Dada just watching me as I explode. "We don't want a mom! We don't need a fucking mom! You can't date! You can't! I won't let you!" Dad's face falls and I can't find it within me to feel guilty. "It's your fault!" I don't know why I'm saying what I'm saying. I'm not even sure if I really blame him or not. All I know is that I'm saying it. "It's your fault! You forced her into our lives and never noticed how bad it was! It's all your fault!"

"Brother!" Al cries angrily. "Shut up!"

"You shut up!" I yell back. "You know it's true!"

"I said shut up!" Al yells.

"Boys," Dada tries as Al walks over to me.

"If you're gonna blame Dad then you need to blame Granny and Winry and Teacher and Sig!" Al tells me loudly. "Nobody did anything for us! No one helped us! Dad's not the only one who did nothing! Everyone who's ever claimed to care about us sat by and did nothing while she made our lives hell! So don't just blame Dada!" Al's lip quivers and he starts crying. "You can't just blame him." I sigh, knowing he's right. It's not just his fault and I know he feels guilty about it. I just…. I guess I do blame him more than I blame anyone else. Mostly 'cause he brought her into our lives in the first place. But in Dad's defense, she did put on a good show.

"You're right, Ally," I say softly. "I'm sorry." I look at Dad and say, "I'm sorry, Dada. If you like her, date her. It's none of my business."

"No, Ed," Dad sighs, standing. "It is your business. You're part of the family. You both are. If the idea of me dating makes you uncomfortable you have every right to say so." Well, it does. And I did say so. But I feel bad. Dad's an adult and I guess he misses having a wife. I don't know. So instead of fighting or telling him no, I've decided to go a different route.

"Is she cute?" I ask, kind of teasing him. Dada blushes and takes his glasses off. He cleans them and chuckles as he puts them back on.

"Oh, I think so," Dad tells us. "She's got brown hair, like Mom. And the prettiest blue eyes. Oh, and boys – she's so smart. So, so smart. Did research at Ohio State and…. Oh, she's so nice."

"I wanna meet her," Al says.

"I think we can arrange that," Dada says with a smile.

"Dada," I begin softly, "I want you to be happy."

"Thank you, Ed," Dad says.

"I'm not done," I inform him. Dad blinks and I continue, "I want you to be happy. But I'm…. I'm scared. She was nice too. But we were wrong about her." My lip trembles and I know I'm going to start bawling. "What if we're wrong about this one!? I can't get hurt again! I can't!"

"Oh, Ed," Dada sighs. He walks over and wraps me up in a big hug. I cry into his chest, his hand rubbing my back. "I know you can't. So let's take it slow. I won't ask her out until you and Ally meet and approve of her okay?" I nod and I feel like such a big baby. Dad pulls away, his gentle eyes staring at me. "It'll be okay, honey," he tells me. I shrug and he pokes my nose. I laugh, Dad smirking. He tickles me lightlyand I try to shove his hands away.

"Stop it!" I cry, Dad obeying.

"If you insist," he says. Al's grinning, Dad smiling back at him.

"I wanna meet her," Al says again. "Can we meet her this week?"

"I think that can happen," Dad says. "Are you two okay with going to campus tomorrow after school? She has late lab tomorrow."

"Sure," Al chirps.

"Yeah, okay," I agree. I'm still really unsure about this whole thing. But I meant what I said. I do want Dada to be happy. And I trust him. He's done a lot to repair the damage that was done and I trust him that he's gonna take it slow. There's too much at stake for him if he doesn't. Failure to take it slow would mean he loses me and Al and I know he can't handle that.

I stare at the ceiling, thoughts swirling around in me like a whirlpool. Even though I know that Dada's taking it slow and that nothing's happening between and the chemistry lady, I'm freaked out about it. All I can thinking about are those happy months before Dad got engaged to her. All I can think about is the elaborate deception she created. We really thought she loved us. I sit up, Al in his own bed. I think he's sleeping but I'm not sure. If he's awake, I bet he's thinking of all the same things. He's thinking about how happy we were and how quickly it all disappeared. I know he couldn't handle it if everything went wrong again. I know because I couldn't handle it if everything went wrong again. I put on my prosthetic, deciding that I can't sleep on my own. Not with all these horrible thoughts and memories in my head. I walk over to Al's bed and sit, Al stirring at the change in weight. He sits up, his hair sticking up in a few places and glances over to me.

"Uh, Brother?" He asks, rubbing his eyes. I take my leg off and smile at him.

"Just go back to sleep, Ally," I tell him. Al nods and lies down. I lay down too, squirming so I'm under all of Al's covers. He likes lots of blankets on his bed. I curl up, Al beside me, and suddenly I'm safe. My mind is resting and I can finally sleep.


	7. Meeting Lucy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Hoho's girlfriend and invitations to skip school on therapy day? What's an Edward to do?

Another day, another entire day at school that I can't seem to remember. It's like I wasn't even there. I met Al and Winry by my locker like always and Winry invites us over for dinner. We accept of course, knowing Dada will be thrilled to eat at Granny's. She wants to come over now but we can't. Today we're meeting…. Shit. I don't even know her name. Okay. We're meeting Dad's potential girlfriend. Ugh, that sounds terrible. Gotta learn her name. Winry seems upset but is happy that we're coming over for dinner at least. I can tell she misses hanging out with us. When we were little, we spent so much time together. When she came around we slowly spent less and less until we never saw Winry or Granny unless Dada was home. So Winry tries to spend as much time with us as possible because she misses us. Dad pulls up in front of school and we say goodbye to Winry. He smiles warmly at us and drives away from school. He asks how school was and I tell him that I don't really remember it. With meeting the chemistry lady and therapy and all of my breakdowns the last week or so, my brain's kind of mushy right now. I tell him all those things and he laughs. Dad's always thought that I'm funny. Guess I am. I don't know. The conversation shifts to Al and he says school was fine. Did something in lab, took a quiz; the usual. At least he can remember it.

We make it to the campus, Dada smiling like a little kid on Christmas. We've met lots of his coworkers and things in the past but this one's different. There's a future here. And that terrifies me down to my very core. The thought of everything going wrong makes me want to run away and hide. Part of me doesn't even want to meet her. But I really do want Dad to be happy. The last couple years have been miserable for everyone, him included. In one day his wonderful wife became an abusive stepmother. I can't imagine what that must have been like for him. To realize the woman he recruited to help raise his children did that must have been awful for him. Sure, our side is probably infinitely worse considering we were the children she abused but still. It hasn't been easy for Dada. He feels so guilty still and I just want him to be happy again. We get out of the car, Al instantly taking my hand. Campus makes him feel vulnerable and scared. Makes me feel that way, too. Dad takes us to the science building and we get to her door. I read the name, trying to engrave it in my mind so I have a name to give this person. Dada knocks, a soft voice saying he can enter.

"Lucy?" Dada says as he walks in. Sitting at the desk is a petite woman with shoulder length brown hair. Her blue eyes are really pretty – like crystals or something. She smiles at him and tucks her hair behind her ear. I don't think she's noticed me and Al yet. Mostly 'cause we're hiding behind Dad until he introduces us.

"Vic," she says warmly. "Good to see you. I thought you were off for the day. Letting the TAs handle biochem." Dada laughs – that laugh I haven't heard in a really long time. It's real.

"I was," Dad says. "But I thought it would be nice if you met my sons today. You're the only person in the building who hasn't." Her eyes light up and she stands.

"I would love to!" Lucy cries happily, grabbing her purse for some reason. "Coffee?"

"Oh, erm, no," Dada says. "I mean; I'd love to but we can't stay long." I giggle. Dad's acting weird; the weird that freshmen act around their crushes.

"Oh," she says, setting her bag down. "Where are they, then?" Dad steps aside and I make eye contact with her. Her eyes seem gentle, twinkling at me as we stare silently at each other.

"These are my boys," Dad says proudly. Al whimpers, shyness getting the best of him as Lucy walks over. Dad points to me and says, "That's my oldest, Edward, and that's Alphonse."

"Goodness," she breathes, stopping right in front of me. She examines me, a smile spreading across her face and says, "He looks so much like you. How old are they?"

"Ed's fifteen," Dada says. "Al's fourteen."

"They're so small," Lucy comments in disbelief.

"Oh, um, yes," Dad splutters, obviously flustered. She smiles at us and I get a sudden urge of bravery.

"D'you like teaching here?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly. Al looks up at me and I wink at him. He giggles and Lucy grins.

"I do," she replies. "It's no Ohio State but it's nice. It's like a little family."

"Do you have kids?" Al asks softly.

"No," she replies. "My husband died before we had the chance to have children." Al looks down guiltily.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," she giggles softly. "It's okay. Do you like school?" We nod and Lucy asks, "What subjects do you two like?"

"Science," we say in unison. Lucy looks at Dad.

"They are really your sons, then," she says. "They seemed too well behaved for that but now I know better." Dad laughs his real laugh again. I grin, feeling that somehow she's different than her. That Lucy wouldn't hurt us. I don't know why, but I do.

"Dada," Al whines, students walking the hall and making him all nervous. "Let's go to Granny's."

"Oh, right," Dad says, like he just remembered we're having dinner with Granny and Winry. He turns to Lucy and says, "See you tomorrow." Lucy nods.

"See you tomorrow," she echoes. Lucy turns to us and says, "It was nice to meet you, boys."

"Yeah, you too," I say. Al waves timidly and Lucy giggles. She walks over to Dada and whispers something in his ear. Dad chuckles and looks at Al.

"He is, isn't he?" He says obviously in agreement. Al's cheeks turn pink and he tries to hide his face. Dad says goodbye to Lucy again and says, "Let's go, boys." I guide Al outside, Dad's head held high.

"You really like her," I say, "Don't you?" Dada grins and nods.

"I do," he tells me.

"What'd she say?" Al asks.

"Hmm?" Dada asks as if he doesn't know what Al is talking about. "Oh," he says, "She just thought you were very cute." Al squeaks and blushes really hard. His whole face is pink and Dad laughs at him.

"Can I tell you something?" I ask.

"Of course," Dad answers.

"I…. I liked her," I tell him quietly.

"You did?" Dad questions.

"Yeah," I say. "She seemed nice."

"I liked her too," Al adds. "She's pretty, Dada, and seems really nice."

"Glad she made a good first impression," Dad says.

"So what now?" I ask. Al looks at me, fear clawing up both our bellies. Dad sighs and shrugs.

"I don't know," he admits. "A good first impression means very little. I know that now."

"Yeah," I agree softly.

"But I like her," Dad goes on. "So what would you boys say to her coming over for dinner sometime? It doesn't have to be next week or anything. I just want to hear what you have to say."

"That'd be good," Al says hesitantly. He pauses, a shadow of fear overcoming him. Dad and me both notice so I squeeze his hand.

"What's the matter, baby?" Dada asks. Al takes a shaky breath.

"What if…. What if she doesn't like me?" Al asks, his voice cracking. He blinks rapidly, obviously trying to prevent tears from rolling down his face.

"Oh, Al," Dad sighs. "Honey, she'll like you. I know she will. I have a good feeling about it."  
"Me too," I add. Dad looks at me and I grin cheekily at him. "I don't know why. I just have a good feeling."

"See, Ally?" Dad says, Al sniffling. "Even Brother has a good feeling. That has to mean something, right?"

"I guess," Al replies.

"I promise that I won't go any further with Lucy until you're comfortable with it," Dad tells us both. "If you want to get to know her before I date her that's okay."

"Dada," I say as we get into the car. "Are you going to tell her?" Dad nearly drops his keys. He fumbles a bit, finally getting the key into the ignition.

"Gee, Ed, that's heavy," Dad tells me. "I haven't even asked her out yet." I stare expectantly at him and Dad sighs. "If we get serious, I suppose I'll have to. If she moves in, she'll need to know what to expect."

"What if that makes her hate us?" Al cries worriedly. "After all, she started hurting us because I wet the bed. What if Lucy gets mad at me for it? What if she can't stand how noisy we are or how messy our house is or how many appointments we have? What if she finds out and starts hating us?" I glance at Dad. Al does have a point. At least, I think he has one.

"You're jumping the gun a bit, Al," Dada replies. "But, we don't have to worry about any of this yet. I haven't asked her out and even if I do it doesn't mean we'll get married or anything. But if and when that time comes, Lucy will need to know. It's a part of our history, boys, whether we like it or not." None of us like it, but Dada's right. He's saying the same thing Dr. Hughes has said since we started seeing him. The abuse is part of us. We can't run from it. No matter where we go or what we do, it'll always be a part of us.

If Lucy and Dada get serious, she'll be let in on our family's secret. She'll know the thing that we try to keep hidden; the darkest part of us. If that's where this all leads, I'm not sure I want Dad dating after all. The idea of another person knowing makes me sick to my stomach. Every time someone finds out, they treat us like we're fragile or worse; like we're a time bomb. They're afraid they'll touch a nerve or say something to set us off. While it's true that somethings do trigger us and send us back to terrible times, it's not like everything does. We can handle more than most people give us credit for. No one, not even Winry or Dad, thinks we're capable of handling hard stuff. Did they forget that's all we've been doing for years? I guess they did. I sigh and look out the window. I do like Lucy. She seems nice and a good fit for Dada. But if her getting close to Dad means she'll know – that she'll know the thing I've been trying to run from for so long – I don't want her getting any closer. I know it's selfish but I don't care. Those dark days, though they're a part of me, are something I don't want anyone knowing about and I know Al feels the same. But I can't stop Dad from being happy. So now I'm stuck in this weird position, one I can't share with anyone but Al. Because no one else knows me like he does. No one else understand my feelings like he does. I sigh again.

This really sucks balls.

It's therapy day again so it's pancake day. Every Monday and Friday we get pancakes. Every single therapy day we roll up to IHOP or Denny's or some other place and get pancakes. The weird thing is, though, we could order whatever we want. We can order omelets or French toast or even waffles but we don't. We always get pancakes. I grab my backpack, wondering if Lucy will get pancakes too. I know nothing's even really happening between Lucy and Dada but I think a lot. My brain never stops thinking. Will she get pancakes? Or will she break the mold and get something other than pancakes? I walk downstairs, Al waiting at the bottom of the stairs for me. He smiles weakly, exhaustion on his face. He didn't sleep well last night. Honestly, neither did I, but he had it worse. I don't know what he was dreaming about, though. He didn't tell me. He usually does. I ruffle his hair as I walk passed, Al giggling lightly. I go to the kitchen, Dad drinking coffee and reading the paper.

"Dada," I say. He looks at me and swallows the coffee in his mouth.

"Hey, kiddo," he replies. "Ready?" I nod.

"Yup," I answer. "Ally's ready, too." Dad smiles and walks passed me. I follow him, Al yawning as he struggles to keep his eyes open. "I guess Al needs some coffee this morning." Al grins, knowing Dad's teasing him.

"Mmm, yeah," Al agrees tiredly. Al doesn't drink coffee. Makes his heart beat funny. I drink it sometimes but it makes my heart beat funny too. Caffeine is a stimulant after all.

We get to our usual IHOP and get seated in our usual booth. The people here know us. We made pancake days a tradition when we started therapy. I can remember that me and Al were in a bad place after everything happened. We were like walking corpses almost. So Dad thought we needed something special. Something that made us excited every week so we'd keep going. Guess it worked. I still kinda look forward to pancake day. It's a day we get to eat as a family (That doesn't happen too often 'cause Dad's always working) and it's a morning Al and me don't have to eat cereal. We order, Al practically falling asleep at the table. He lays his head down, hiding his face between his arm. Dada chuckles and shakes his head, saying that we should just leave him alone. A nap before school wouldn't hurt, he says. I shrug, staring at my orange juice. Man, I'm tired. Just not tired enough to fall asleep at an IHOP. So many nightmares, so much staring at the ceiling happened last night. I woke up screaming at least twice and eventually both me and Al ended up in Dada's bed. He's got a nice big king size bed that fits all three of us. Maybe that's why Dad wants to date. Maybe he hates sleeping alone too.

Dad pays and we get back in the car. Al's in a sort of daze, his tired eyes staring off blankly. I try to talk to him and get him to wake up but it doesn't work. I frown, trying to think of something that would wake him up. The last thing I want is for him to get in trouble because he falls asleep in class. Pretty sure that's an automatic detention for most teachers and I know Al can't handle that right now. I glance over, Dada's phone in the cup holder. I grab it, unlocking it and touching the Spotify icon. I plug in the AUX cord and smirk. This'll wake him up. I pick a song, a song that we like to listen to because we think it's stupid, and turn up the volume. Before Dad can ask what I'm doing, it starts. Al jumps a little and looks at me.

"This is for you," I tell him, singing along. Al grins and we start dancing a little in our seats. Dada chuckles, Al joining in with the song.

"That's probably the reason all these boys got crushes," Al sings, getting every inflection right. I laugh at him, still singing along with this ridiculous song from 2007. He knows all the words, that's how much we listen to it. Guilty pleasure? Maybe. But my real guilty pleasure is Meghan Trainor. That girl is so dumb and I know it, but damn is everything she puts out catchy.

"My lips, my lip gloss," Al laughs, the chorus repeating again. I grin, feeling pretty pleased with myself. He might still be tired as hell but hey; he's got enough energy to act like a moron so maybe I've saved him from falling asleep in school.

"That song is ridiculous," Dada comments as I choose something else to listen to. I shrug.

"I guess," I say. "But it's funny because it's so freaking ridiculous." Al nods.

"That song used to be so popular when we were kids," Al says.

"And now we're the cool kids who know all the words," I joke, putting on The Beatles just for some background noise.

"Brother, put on that one Meghan Trainor song about a drummer," Al says. I nod, thinking how innocent Al really is. It's not about a drummer, not really. It's about how she wants to screw drummers. But Al genuinely thinks it's a song about a girl who likes drummers musically, not sexually. I put it on, laughing because Al truly is clueless. I can't believe there's a fourteen-year-old kid who doesn't get even the most explicit sexual songs. I've told people, mostly Winry and Ling, to leave it alone because I'm afraid of what the truth will do to him. We move along with the beat, Dada asking for his phone back as we pull up to school. He stops the M-Train from playing and shakes his head.

"You two," he chuckles. "Mom's silly boys." I grin, knowing just how happy it makes Dad when we are stupid like that. It makes him feel like we really are getting better. Two years ago, car dancing wouldn't have happened and we all know it. Al yawns, Dad ruffling his hair.

"Stay awake, Ally," he instructs.

"Mm, 'kay," Al hums.

"Have a good day, boys. I'll pick you up this afternoon." I nod and get out of the car. Al follows me and we wave. Dada waves back and I turn to the building.

"Ugh," I groan. "Really wish school wasn't a thing today."

"Al! Ed!" I turn to find Mei running up with Ling at her heels. I wave, nudging Al so he'll wave too.

"Hey," I greet. Ling smiles cheekily at me.

"Heard what you said," he informs me.

"Huh?" I ask.

"About wishing school wasn't a thing," he clarifies.

"Ling," Mei warns.

"What's going on?" I ask.

"I just got my license," Ling explains. "Been thinking about skipping school one day and just driving. Perhaps today is that day. You wanna come?" I blink, my brain moving slower than usual.

"Sure," Al says sleepily. I nudge him in the ribs, his eyes barely open.

"Is he okay?" Mei asks worriedly. Ling inspects my brother and laughs.

"Too much cold medicine?" He laughs. "Happens all the time." Al moans and shakes his head.

"No," he says. "Just tired."

"All the more reason to skip," Ling insists.

"Stop it," Mei instructs. "Ed and Al are good kids. They don't skip school."

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted," I admit, Mei glaring at me. "But today doesn't work."

"Why not?" Ling asks and I can tell his disappointed. I think Ling really likes me. He's always asking if I can hang out with him. I think he's lonely since his parents are never around. I know I'd be lonely if Dada wasn't around like when we were little. "It's Friday! Give yourself a three-day weekend!"

"Look," I begin, the conversation shifting toward a subject I'm uncomfortable with, "I just can't, okay? Maybe some other time."

"We've got therapy," Al says and my heart stops.

"Al!" I cry. He shakes his head.

"I meant not that," Al tries, but the damage's been done. They know.

"Oh," Ling mumbles. "Okay. Sorry."

"It's not a big deal," I dismiss. "I, uh, could skip it whenever I want but I, um, skipped last week so, you know…. Can't miss again." Al looks at me and I can tell he feels bad. He wasn't thinking, wasn't concerned about guarding his words like normal. I can tell that neither Mei or Ling really care that we have therapy but it's personal. We just don't like people knowing.

"I have therapy," Al says. "Just me. Not Ed. I just hate going by myself. I'm kind of a baby about it." Ling smiles and shrugs.

"It's cool, dude," he tells him. "Everyone's got something, ya know? It's not like I'm gonna tell anyone." That is true. For all his dumb party boy ways, Ling doesn't gossip. Never has.

"You know," Mei begins, walking toward the building, "I was thinking that maybe on Tuesday Ed could tag along."

"Why?" Al asks. Mei blushes and I can tell what's going on. She likes Al, like really likes him, and is nervous about spending the afternoon alone with him.

"Well, um, the shelter, you know, needs volunteers," Mei stumbles, "So maybe Ed would like to volunteer too?" I grin sheepishly and shrug.

"Eh," I say. "Seems like too much work. Not really my thing." Al stares at me and asks with his eyes if I would go with him the first time he goes. He's nervous too, but for different reasons. I nod and say, "But I can go next week. Just to scope it out." Mei grins ear to ear.

"Oh, Ed," Ling says, "I know what you're going to say but there's a party at my place tomorrow. We're using the hot tub if you want to come." I shake my head.

"Sorry," I say, feeling bad about turning Ling down again.

"There's more," he says in a whisper. Both me and Al lean in close, Mei huffing and walking ahead. "I've got booze." I take a step back.

"Did you steal it from your parents?" I ask. Ling shakes his head.

"I've got connections," he says sheepishly. "Does that tempt you?" Honestly, I've never had any interest in drinking. Don't know why. Maybe it's 'cause I've got so much other shit to deal with that I can't really add that on top of it all. I always hear kids talk about how wasted they got or who they had sex with and it just reminds me that I hate everything high school is. Then again, I've never done anything wild in my life. I always follow the rules, I always do my homework, and I'm always in bed when I'm supposed to be. Part of me wants to say yes, but I know better. Besides, there's no way Al would go to a party like that (not right now) anyway.

"Are freshmen invited?" I ask, hoping they're not. Al's a freshman and if freshmen aren't invited I have an excuse as to why I can't go. Can't leave Al by himself.

"Eh, not really," Ling says and I sigh in relief. "But I've always liked Al. He's not a lame freshman. He's pretty cool. He can come if he wants."

"Uh, no thanks," Al squeaks. "I don't really like parties."

"I know," Ling sighs. "Hey, maybe sometime you guys could come by just the two of you. We could play video games and drink if you want." I laugh. Ling's definitely lonely.

"Sure," I say. "Let's get wasted playing Smash Bros. Sounds like fun to me." We make it to Al's class and I notice that Al's really far behind. Mei calls for him but he stays where he is. My brow furrows and I walk over. He tries to hide his face from me, like he's ashamed of something he did.

"Al?" I ask. He stays quiet and I ask, "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I realize that he's apologizing for telling Ling and Mei about therapy. I sigh and ruffle his hair.

"It's okay, Ally," I say. "I'm not mad at you. It was an accident. You didn't mean to. Besides, Ling and Mei are cool. They both really like you. I don't think they mind or think less of you." Al looks at me and I can tell he's still exhausted.

"I'm tired," he says and I laugh.

"Yeah, I'd say so," I agree. I take his hand and say, "C'mon. You've got to go to class." Al nods and we walk to his class. Mei waves and they walk in together, Ling sighing.

"It's his anxiety, right?" He asks. I turn to look at him.

"Excuse me?" I question. Ling shrugs and walks away from Al's class.

"His anxiety," Ling says. "I figured he had it big time after last week." I follow after him. I never thought that Ling was the observant type. Figured he had forgotten what he saw last week but I was wrong.

"Please don't say anything," I tell him. Ling blinks and I say, "Al's really self-conscious about it."

"Al's my friend," Ling says. "Besides, I don't gossip anyways. You know that."

"Yeah, I know," I say. "But I need your word, Ling." Ling smirks but nods.

"I won't tell a soul, I promise," Ling tells me. I grin.

"Thanks, man," I say. "It means a lot."

"You're really protective," Ling comments, pausing at my class. "I've never met someone more protective of their sibling than you."

"Oh," I say. I feel stupid, but I don't know what to say. How do you respond to that? How do I respond to that? How can I without telling Ling everything about our past? So I just smile at him. "Well, you know. Al's…. Well, he's…. I'm…."  
"You don't have to explain," Ling tells me. "I get it. He's your brother." I nod. Yeah. My brother. My little brother. The only person I had for seven years.

"Right," I say, ending the conversation. "See you at lunch, Ling." Ling waves and our conversation leaves a bad taste in my mouth that would last until the end of the day.

The day flew by and like most days I can't really remember it. I stand by my locker, waiting for Al to meet me. I look at my watch, confused because I don't know where he is. I decide to wait a bit longer, my back resting against my locker. We're gonna be late if Al doesn't show up soon. I glance around, my heart beginning to beat funny. Where's Al? I'm starting to get worried about him. He's never this late. I leave my locker, looking around and hoping to find him. When there's no sign of him, I begin panicking. Something happened. He's freaking out in a closet somewhere. He's scared and alone. Where's Al? I have to find him. My palms are sweating as I walk down the hall. I know what his last class is so I should start there. He might still be there. I get to the room and peer in. Al's shaking at the desk, the teacher writing. I can tell he's been crying and is fighting tears again.

"Ally?" I ask, walking in.

"Brother," he says miserably. His tired eyes stare at me and I glance over at his teacher.

"What happened?" I ask. The teacher finishes what he's writing and hands Al a piece of paper.

"I fell asleep," Al explains, his voice shaking. I glare at the teacher and he glares right back.

"C'mon," I say, "Give him a break. Al's a good student and has never broken a rule in his life." The teacher stares at me, Al shaking behind me.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Elric, but I don't give exceptions," he says.

"But he's never done anything wrong," I argue. "Just give the kid a break."

"I won't repeat myself," he warns. Al takes the paper, his eyes widening.

"M-Mr. Murdoch," Al begins, his voice strained. "I c-can't go t-to de-detention on Mon-Monday."

"You either serve that detention on Monday or you get written up," Mr. Murdoch says, standing. "Have a good weekend."

"Dude," I say before I can stop myself. "That's not cool."

"Excuse me," Mr. Murdoch says slowly. My heart stalls and I know that I've messed up. But I look at Al who's shaking and decide to tell him why Al can't go.

"Uh, we have…. Therapy on Mondays and Fridays," I explain. "That's why he can't go."

"Looks like you'll need to reschedule therapy," Mr. Murdoch tells us. That's when Al breaks down.

"I'm sorry," he cries. "I'm sorry. But I can't go on Monday. I can't. I have to go to therapy." Al wipes his face, unable to contain himself. I pat Al's arm and pull Mr. Murdoch aside. He seems confused but also seems like he isn't willing to change his mind.

"Listen," I say under my breath, "We can't reschedule. Not on such short notice. Let Al serve it Wednesday or something." Mr. Murdoch looks at me like I'm speaking Japanese.

"You've forgotten your place, Elric," he tells me. "Alphonse either goes to detention on Monday or gets written up. End of discussion." Mr. Murdoch walks off, leaving us in the room alone. Al's still crying and I can't believe how unwilling Mr. Murdoch was to reschedule. I shake my head and walk over to him. I can tell he's freaked out, scared of what'll happen to him if he doesn't show up to the detention. I'm curious about that too. 'Cause I know that Al's gonna choose therapy over detention. Dada might disagree, though.

"It's okay," I tell him. "It's okay. We'll figure it out."

"I've never gotten in trouble at school b'fore," Al cries. "What's Dada gonna think?"

"Dada's not gonna think anything," I tell him. "Dad's not gonna be mad or hit you. You're safe."

"I was bad," he says miserably. I sigh.

"No, it was an accident," I reply. "You didn't mean to do it. You were really sleepy." Al doesn't reply so I take his hand in mine. "C'mon; we're gonna be late." Al nods and we leave the room. That Mr. Murdoch is a real douche. I bet he gave Al the whole "I'm very disappointed in you" speech. We walk the halls and I check my watch. I decide we have enough time for a quick detour and pull Al into the office. I walk to the secretary and she smiles at me.

"Is Ms. Hawkeye free?" I ask. She nods and I ask, "Can we see her? I have a grievance." She chuckles at me and okays us to go back into Ms. Hawkeye's office. I pull Al to the office and nock, Ms. Hawkeye answering instantly.

"Ms. Hawkeye?" I ask, walking in. She smiles at us both.

"What's up, Ed?" She asks.  
"I have a grievance," I tell her, sitting down. Al sits next to me, tear streaks on his face.

"Is something wrong?" She asks and I nod.

"Al's last hour teacher, Mr. Murdoch, gave Al detention for falling asleep," I begin. "He scheduled it for Monday but Monday's therapy day so he can't do it then. He can't do it Tuesday either and Mr. Murdoch told us that if Al doesn't show up Monday he'll get written up. It's really freaking him out so can we make it a lunch detention or reschedule it or something?" Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"I can make it a lunch detention," Ms. Hawkeye tells us gently. "Don't worry, Alphonse. It's not a big deal and Mr. Murdoch won't write you up. Everything's alright." I check my watch and stand.

"Hate to ask this of you and leave, but we're gonna be late," I say. "Thanks so much, Ms. Hawkeye."

"No problem, boys," she says. "Have a good weekend." I smile and guide Al out of the office.

"See," I say as we make it outside. "Everything's fine." Al nods and he's finally able to successfully wipe his face. I spot Dada's car and hurry over. We get in, Dad's brow furrowed.

"Hey," he greets, "Something wrong?" I guess he's pretty good by now at noticing that Al's distressed. Al nods and pulls out his detention slip. He hands it to Dada, Dad asking, "What's this?"

"I-I fell asleep," Al answers, his voice barely above a whisper. Yup, he's still scared. I can tell. Dad shakes his head.

"Alphonse," he sighs, "You can't go to detention on Monday. You've got therapy."  
"No worries, Dad," I interject. "I got it switched to a lunch detention for him." Dad gives me a weird look and drives away. "What?" I ask as we arrive at a stop light.

"As wonderful as it is that you got it switched, you can't do everything for Al," he tells me. "Al's not a little kid, Ed. He's fourteen. If something isn't right, he should be able to take care of it himself and not always depend on you to do it for him." I can't tell if I'm angry or not. Scratch that – I'm angry.

"Well, what do you know anyway?!" I snap. "It's not like you were there! He wasn't gonna do anything! He was just gonna pick between detention or therapy and let that teacher walk all over him! If you want Al to do things for himself, then Al needs to stop being such a doormat!" Al lowers his face and I realize I've crossed a line. But before I can apologize, Dad gives me a look that keeps my words tucked away inside my throat.

"That wasn't nice," Dada tells me. "Al is many things, but a doormat is not one of them." I nod.

"I'm sorry," I say. "But he really wasn't gonna do anything to change it! He was just gonna let that douche bag teacher boss him around. You know I don't let anyone do that to Al, not even a teacher!"  
"And I'm glad for that," Dad says. "I'm glad that you look after your brother. You do it better than anyone else I know. But, Ed, Al's growing up. You have to let him. Teach him how to stand up for himself instead of doing it for him. Understand?" I shrug.

"Yeah," I say. "Can you help me?"

"Of course," Dad replies. "And Al?"

"Yeah?" Al squeaks, terrified that Dada's gonna yell at him.

"You shouldn't fall asleep in school," Dad scolds. "I know you were tired but you know better." There's disappointment in Dad's voice; disappointment I know that Al can't handle right now.

"I'm…. I'm sorry," Al mumbles. "Please don't be mad! I didn't mean to, really! I-I can be good!"

"Smooth," I grumble, crossing my arms. Dad looks pointedly at me.

"Attitude, Ed," he responds. I roll my eyes and Dad says, "It's okay. I know it was an accident. You're not in any trouble, Al." Al isn't convinced so he opens his backpack and takes Chico out. He strokes its fur, trying desperately to stay calm. He's sick of having meltdowns all the time. He told me.

"Wanna hear something funny?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sure," Dada replies.

"Ling asked me to skip school with him today," I say. If Dad had a drink, he would have spit it. He makes that motion, laughing and coughing at the same time. I smirk and add, "Invited Al too."

"What'd you say?" Dad laughs.

"Well, Al said sure," I tell him. "But he was practically asleep on his feet so I don't think it counts."

"What is with that kid?" Dad asks. "He's always been weird."  
"Ling's lonely," Al says, saying what I've been thinking for years. "His parents aren't around and he and Mei aren't that close. I mean, he's got Lan Fan but still; he's lonely."

"What do his parents do again?" Dad asks.

"Beats me," I reply. "I just know his family's rich. They have this big huge mansion and it's just him and Mei most days. That's why he always has parties. He likes a full house."

"Poor Ling," Dad sighs. "I know he's odd but he seems like a good kid." I nod but say nothing. The good friend in me wants to say that we can have him over but the scared kid in me won't let me. We never have people over. The house is messy, sure, but it's more than that. The house is where everything happened. For some reason, part of me's terrified that if we invite people over they'll find out somehow. Our story is written into the walls, soaked in the floors. It echoes through every part of the house and I'm scared it'll whisper all my secrets to anyone who comes over. So I know I should be a good friend and invite Ling over and maybe someday I will. But right now, I just can't.

Al's finally calm when we get to the office. He's keeping Chico with him, though, probably because he's stressed out. Dr. Hughes will notice and might start the conversation with that. That's good 'cause I did a lot of talking Monday. Al should get to talk more. There's another thing Al pulls out of his backpack while we wait. It's a clay bowl, one he made to replace the one he broke last week. Al's crafty, always has been, so it looks really nice. It's shiny and colorful and deep enough to hold a whole bag of variety candy. We know 'cause we tested it. It's solid. Dr. Hughes calls us back and Al hides the bowl. He wants it to be a surprise. We walk to his office and sit, Dr. Hughes sitting next to me.

"So," he begins, "How was your week, Ed?"

"Fine," I reply. "Don't really remember it to be honest. My brain's been mushy lately. Couldn't tell ya how school went 'cause I don't really remember."

"How was detention?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Oh, that," I say. "Well, it happened. I had a panic attack 'cause some dumb kids started fighting. Other than that it was fine."

"Al, how was your week?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Okay," he answers. "I feel asleep in class today 'cause I haven't been sleeping well at night. I have a lunch detention on Monday. It's freaking me out. I've never done anything bad at school before."

"Understandable," Dr. Hughes says. "Anything else you want to talk about before we get started?"

"Dada met someone," Al says softly.

"Oh?" Dr. Hughes prompts.

"Her name's Lucy and she's the chemistry department chair at Dad's school," Al explains, his hands clutching Chico tighter. "I like her, but I'm scared. If he dates her, everything'll change. What if she doesn't like us? What if she starts hurting us? I can't…. I can't go through it again. I can't. I can't."

"Have they been on a date?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"No," I reply. "But if they get serious, Dada's gonna tell her everything."

"Listen boys," Dr. Hughes begins, "Your dad is a person with needs. I know it's scary but I know your dad isn't going to repeat the mistakes he made before. He loves you two more than anything. No matter what happens, he's your biggest support system. If you feel like something's wrong, he'll listen to you. There's no need to worry about something that isn't even happening, alright?" We both nod. Hearing Dr. Hughes say that does make me feel better. My brain's still gonna freak out sometimes about it, but maybe it'll slow down.

"I have a present for you," Al says with a smile. He's squirming and I can't tell if he's nervous or has to pee or both. Probably both.

"Let's see it," Dr. Hughes says. Al pulls it out, smiling proudly as he hands it over to him. Dr. Hughes takes the bowl, examining it closely before gently setting down on that table between the chairs and the desk. "It's beautiful," he comments. Al's practically glowing and Dr. Hughes says, "Thank you."

"I have to pee," Al says, standing. "Be right back." Dr. Hughes nods and Al leaves, leaving us alone.

"Hey, Dr. Hughes?" I ask.

"Yeah?" Dr. Hughes replies. I bite my lip. I'm not sure how I want to phrase what I want to say. I want to talk about what Dad said in the car about teaching Al how to be more independent. I want to talk about how anxious that makes me feel. Maybe he can help me figure out why.

"Well, Dada said I need to stop doing everything for Al," I begin. "He said that Al needs to learn how to stand up for himself and that I can teach him. But for some reason, the idea of that makes me anxious. I should be happy and proud of him but instead I'm terrified that he doesn't need me anymore."

"I think that's normal," Dr. Hughes tells me. "He needed you for nine years in a way that you really couldn't do. You both needed a parent and didn't have one. You stepped up for him but now your dad's around. Ed, Al does need to be independent. But it'll be a slow process. You both have a lot of anxiety and habits to break."

"But what if he doesn't need me anymore?" I ask miserably.

"Al will always need you," Dr. Hughes assures me. "He's your brother. Now that everything's over, the two of you can truly be brothers for the first time in a long time. It'll be hard to make that transition but it'll be worth it."

"So what do I do?" I ask. "How do I teach him to stand up for himself?"

"Let him speak first," Dr. Hughes suggests. "Let Al speak while you listen. If he doesn't say anything, then speak up for him. You should be his advocate, Ed, when he's not able to advocate for himself. He's yours, too. It goes both ways. But the first and easiest step is to just let Al talk. Let him point out when someone wrongs him. Don't jump the gun. Be patient and let him speak." I nod. I can do that. That's not scary.

"You promise he'll always need me?" I press anxiously.

"Edward, your brother will always need you," Dr. Hughes says. "That'll look different as you get older but I swear that Al won't wake up one day and decide he's done with you. You two are in this together forever and Al getting more independent won't change that." I trust Dr. Hughes. There's no reason not to. But there's this dull roar of fear that I constantly fear that I always feel. Al feels it too. I know he does. That's why we're the way we are.

"Thanks," I say. "I feel better." Dr. Hughes grins.

"That means I'm doing my job."


	8. Placing Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love trampolines, am I right?

I've decided to talk less and listen more. I mean, I'm not gonna not talk or anything; I just mean that when there's an opportunity for Al to talk, I'm gonna let him. I've been hearing lots of people how it would be nice if Al spoke more. He's been so quiet for so long. When he was little, he talked constantly. Once he learned how to say words, he never stopped talking. That all changed when she came around. She beat his voice right out of him. Now he hardly talks. I mean, once he gets going he can talk for hours but getting Al going is harder now than it was when he was little. I have my bubbles. I don't know what Al has that keeps his voice locked away. Fear? Maybe. Could be that he has bubbles too. I don't know. He's never told me. I've never told him about my bubbles. It's something we don't talk about. There's a lot we don't talk about.

It's Saturday and Winry's over. She doesn't come over very often (we go to her place, usually) but I like it when she does. We watch movies, play video games, and even use the trampoline outside. Growing up, we never got to use it. She wouldn't let us use it. Even though Dada gave it us for Christmas it was off limits. Now we can use it whenever we want. That and the slip n' slide. It's too cold for that, though, so trampoline it is. I don't know why people like trampolines so much. Maybe it's because you can jump so high that you feel like if you reached far enough, you could touch the clouds. I know why I like trampolines so much, though. When I was a kid and Dada was home, Al and me would race out to the trampoline. We'd climb up on it and jump until our legs hurt. Then we'd take turns lying on our backs, the other one jumping while we got flung up in the air. I remember that when it was my turn, I'd shut my eyes while Al jumped and I'd imagine I was flying. I still do that sometimes. But Winry always challenges us to acrobatics contests. None of us are really acrobats but a trampoline can make anyone an acrobat. Sort of. We can all do flips and shit, so we try to one up each other. We can get kinda rough, though. Last time Winry went flying off the trampoline and hurt herself. She says it was worth it, though. But my favorite part of the trampoline is when we're all tired out and we lie down on it together. We talk for hours, staring at the clouds, while Dad picks what we're gonna order for dinner. I like trampoline days.

"Remember when we thought Ed would never use the trampoline again?" Winry asks suddenly. We're all on our backs, watching the clouds go by. I sit up and stare at her.

"Well, yeah," I reply. "Not really a great conversation topic." Winry chuckles, her hair spread out all over the trampoline.

"I guess," she agrees. "Still, I'm glad that you can."

"Mmm," Al hums, the sun warming his face. "Me too." I lie back down, a sigh escaping my lips.

"Do you think we'll still do this in college?" Winry asks.

"What is with you today?" I scoff. "Are you depressed or something?"

"No," Winry answers. "I just think a lot, I guess. In two years, Ed, we'll be waiting for acceptance letters. That's crazy, don't you think?"

"I guess," I reply. "What do you think, Al?" Al stirs and opens his eyes.

"The sky's beautiful," he comments. "And it'll be beautiful three years from now when we lay on our trampoline and look at it." He sits up, running a hand through his hair. "We're friends. I don't think college will change that." I nod, a smirk spreading across my face.

"Think when we're all twenty-one we'll bring wine out here and watch the sky?" I ask. Winry laughs.

"Sure," she chuckles. "And when we all have kids we'll bring them out here too."

"And we'll come back when we're old," Al adds. He sighs and says, "The sky never changes." I lightly kick him, Al laughing.

"Deep," I tease.

"Stop it, Brother," Al laughs. "That tickles!" I sit up, a grin on my face.

"Oh, really?" I ask, standing. Al quickly sits up, trying to scoot away from me.

"Don't," he warns, smiling from ear to ear. I lung at him and Al squeals. He's on his feet, running around the edge of the trampoline, trying to get away from me. I chase him, laughing wildly as Al trips and rolls around on the trampoline.

"Boys," Winry huffs. She's not above chasing us on the trampoline, but she thinks she is. I finally make it to Al, tickling his sides until he's red in the face. Al tries to get away, but can't seem to as I overpower him completely.

"He's gonna pee if you tickle him anymore," Winry laughs. I nod, letting up so he can sit up. He pushes me, a smile on his face.

"You're the worst," he tells me. I grin and nod.

"I know," I reply. "I bask in all my terribleness." Winry's brow furrows and I shoot her a look. "What?"

"Your hair's getting long," she comments.

"Oh," I say. "Actually, I've been thinking of growing it out."

"How come?" Al asks, sitting cross-legged in front of me. I shrug.

"I don't know," I admit. "I guess I just want to." They both stare and I blush. "You think that's dumb, huh?" To my surprise, Winry shakes her head.

"No," she says. "For some reason, I think you'd rock long hair."

"Yeah," Al agrees. "When I picture it, it doesn't look stupid." I grin, standing on the trampoline.

"Then it's settled," I declare loudly, the neighbor kids looking over at me. I point to the sky and say, "I'm growing my hair out and no one can stop me!" I close my eyes, the sun warming my face. This time next year, my hair will be long. This time next year, I'll be better than I am now. This time next year, my heart will feel lighter even though I have more hair on my head. She can't control me anymore. I can grow my hair out and no one can stop me. No one will even try.

The rest of the weekend was nice. We had dinner with Winry on Saturday, Dada ordering pizza for all of us. He had to grade so he didn't stick around but since Winry was there we were okay. After that we played video games until Granny picked her up. Sunday was spent doing homework like usual and I told Dada that I was growing my hair out. Dad actually keeps his hair long so he wasn't surprised by it. Actually, he seemed really happy for some reason. I don't know. Now it's Monday so it's pancake day again. This morning Al tried to fake sick to get out of his detention 'cause he's nervous. Dad caught on pretty quick so all three of us are setting in our usual IHOP in our usual booth eating our Monday morning pancakes. I tell him that detention's not that scary but it doesn't seem to be working. Chico's out so I know he's stressed. Dad must sense it too so he changes the subject. He asks what day works best for Teacher and Sig to come over. We all decide Tuesday's best. I don't know why. Maybe it's 'cause Tuesday's the day Al volunteers at the shelter for the first time and having dinner with Teacher will help him recover from what might be super stressful for him. Dad promises to get everything we need (Not that we need much. Just Kraft, a pack of hotdogs, biscuits, and juice. Wow.) and we agree to clean the house after therapy. Not that the house is horrible; it's just cluttered and kinda dusty. But I know Mom would freak if she saw it. She liked a clean house. Well, as clean as it can be with two boys.

I can actually remember school for once. A test was scheduled in English, history was lame, and chemistry was the best (like always). Al survived his lunch detention with no tears and minimal Chico and I call that a success. As we drive to the office, I decide to let Al talk before I do. I've done that before and when I did, Al talked about the trunk. I was super proud of him and I know how hearing that makes him feel. I know because it makes me feel the same way; like my blood's made of honey or something. It's the best feeling in the world, I think. I actually realize there's nothing I really want to talk about. Not today, anyway. I got a lot out Friday and the weekend was great. The only thing I can think of is telling Dr. Hughes that I'm growing my hair out. I could tell him how someday it'll be long enough to put in pony tails and braids and man-buns. I could tell him about how someday, my hair might even be longer than Winry's. Okay, no, it won't be but I could tell him that. I could tell a story about my hair, about how my hair represents some deep feelings in me. Or I could just tell a silly story about a dorky fifteen-year-old kid who decided one day to grow his hair out. Either way, I could tell him a story about it.

We get to the building and soon we're in Dr. Hughes' office. The bowl Al made him is sitting on that table, filled with candy like it should be. Al sees it and grins. Dr. Hughes looks at both of us and I can tell by his face that he's glad to see neither of us are anxious today. I'm happy about that too. The last week or so have been terrible for us. We've both been anxious messes lately. It's nice to not have anxiety scratching at your belly and lying to you all the time. I briefly imagine what life would be like if I never had anxiety again. Damn; it seems nice. Normal people don't know how good they have it.

"Dr. Hughes?" Al asks.

"Yeah?" Dr. Hughes replies in question.

"Can I ask you something?" Al asks. I blink, unsure of what Al's gonna ask. He didn't mention anything to me before we got here so I have no idea what's on his mind.

"Of course," Dr. Hughes says. "Go for it."

"Well, I was just…." Al pauses, takes a breath, and continues, "The day I told Winry about…everything I remember feeling guilty about it. I outed the family secret. I broke the biggest rule we had. I still feel guilty sometimes. Why is that?"

"Why do you think that is?" Dr. Hughes asks. Dr. Hughes does that a lot. He makes us answer our own questions. I don't know why. I think it's 'cause it helps us work through what we're feeling.

"I guess it's 'cause breaking rules for so long meant that Brother or I would get hurt," Al says quietly. His fingers grip the folds in his pants and I can tell the anxiety is crawling up inside him. "I was so scared that day that she'd get out of it like she had before and punish Ed for it. I had these dreams were Ed get so hurt, all because of me!" He takes a shaky breath and says, "I'm still scared that'll happen! It's all my fault everything went wrong! It's all my fault!" I blink, unsure of what he's talking about. He's the one that allowed her to finally get caught. He's the one that finally enabled the police to do something. He was brave and we got rescued. What is he talking about?  
"Al," Dr. Hughes says softly, Al bawling now, "It's not your fault. You did a good thing that day. You enabled you and your brother to finally escape the horrible things you'd been subjected to for almost ten years. You did a good thing." Al shakes his head.

"It's my fault," he repeats and my eyes widen. He's not talking about the day she got arrested at all. He used that as an illusion; a way to ask a question that is much tougher to ask. He blames himself for the abuse. He blames himself for the whole thing. My heart beats funny, my brain unable to process. Why? Why would he? Obviously it was my fault! I didn't do enough to protect us! I didn't tell Dada after That Night because I was scared. It's all on me! Why would Al blame himself? Why?

"Alphonse," Dr. Hughes says gently, using that dad voice we both love, "None of it is your fault. You were only a child." Al shakes his head again.

"Yes it is!" He cries. "I wet the bed. She got mad because of it. If it weren't for me, it never would have happened! It's all my fault and I'm so sorry, Brother! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Al," I breathe, still unable to really think. It doesn't compute. For so long I had blamed myself and was scared that Al blamed me too. I think that's why I've been trying to run for so long. I didn't want to face the fact that maybe Al blamed me. That he looked at me, my weakness and my failures, and blamed me for what happened. Now I'm being faced with Al blaming himself and being terrified that I blamed him. I don't know what to say or do. I really don't.

"It's okay," Dr. Hughes comforts. "Al, you were a four-year-old child. Four-year-olds wet the bed sometimes. Everyone knows that. She is the only one to blame for what happened. She's the one that overreacted to an accident. She's the one who couldn't handle the responsibility of caring for children. You are not at fault, Al. No one but her is." Al keeps crying and I start too.

"I was so scared that you hated me," I tell Al who's still bawling. "I thought it was me! I thought it was my fault and I blamed myself! I thought you blamed me too and hated me for it!" I hide my face and say, "I'm sorry, Al! I don't blame you. I don't. I don't. I don't." Sometimes I guess you just need a good cry. I haven't had one since last Monday. Guess I'm due for another. I don't know. I also guess that sometimes you need to tell people how you feel, even if you're scared. I was scared to ask Al if he hated me when all along he was scared of the same thing. We still probably would have cried. This is something you just have to cry about when you talk about it.

"Neither of you are at fault," Dr. Hughes tells us. "You were both children. She is the only person at fault." Two years ago, if Dr. Hughes told me that I would have laughed in his face. But now as I cry like a big baby in his office, I feel myself nodding. I'm finally better enough to see that maybe, just maybe, it's not my fault. That I did what I could in the shittiest situation ever. And that maybe it really is just her to blame for the seven years of hell I had to endure.

"Let it out, boys," Dr. Hughes tells us. "You've been carrying this burden for so long. Let it out." Yeah. Sometimes you definitely just need to cry. Now is one of those times.

After therapy we grab dinner and head home. Dada's got more grading to do so Al and me have to eat dinner alone. We eat for a while and Al suddenly stands after a few minutes of silence. Before I can ask he grabs his food and leaves. I watch him go and quickly follow after him. He walks to the sliding glass door and opens it. I'm really confused so I stare out the door and watch as he crawls up on to the trampoline. His plate rests on his thighs and his head tilts backward. He smiles and I walk outside. I walk over the trampoline, Al just staring silently at the stars. I crawl up on to it, the trampoline shifting to accommodate the change in weight. We sit silently for a minute, Al still looking at the sky and his food getting cold.

"What are you doing?" I finally ask.

"I wanted to see the stars," Al says. He's still looking up and my brow furrows.

"Couldn't wait until after dinner?" I ask. Al chuckles and shrugs.

"Guess not," he laughs.

"Hold on," I say, sliding off. I hurry back inside and grab my plate. I rush back outside and get back on the trampoline, Al still staring at the sky.

"It's so pretty," Al sighs like he's never seen anything quite so beautiful. I shove a fork full of food in my mouth and look up. I point to the sky and swallow.

"Venus is super bright tonight," I say. Al nods.

"Remember how I said the sky never changes?" Al asks and I nod.

"Yeah," I reply, taking another bite. Al finally stops looking at the sky, a smile on his face.

"I was wrong," he tells me. "And I knew I was wrong when I said it. The sky does change. Everyday there's new clouds and the planets move. But at the same time, it never really changes. It's there, every day, no matter what and the stars are always in the same place. It's us that move."

"What's gotten into you?" I ask, my mouth full. He shrugs.

"I don't know," Al answers. "Things are starting to change. Ling can drive and soon you and Winry will too. Teacher's gonna have kids in her house. Dada might date Lucy. You and me are finally turning the corner; finally getting better. Even though all those things are good, it's overwhelming. When I think about everything that's gonna change, I can't breathe. It's like there's this weight on my chest. But when I look at the sky…. I don't know. I feel better." I nod. I understand what he's talking about. Things are changing. And while the changes are good, we're afraid. Because we always are.

"The stars don't move," I agree. "At least something's gonna stay the same."

"Yeah," Al says. We eat for a few minutes, Al watching the stars. "Brother?"

"What's up?" I ask.

"You really don't hate me, right?" I freeze, completely caught off guard by his question. "I took so much away from you growing up," Al goes on, guilt oozing from his voice. "I was so clingy and helpless and weak and the abuse started because of something I did. Do you hate me?"

"Ally, I…." I begin, unable to say anything else. Of course I don't hate him. But the bubbles are back and won't let me talk. He starts wailing loudly and I don't know what to do. I want to speak, to tell him that I don't hate him, but I can't.  
"I'm so sorry, Brother," Al wails, unable to contain himself. "I'm sorry!" I set my plate down on the trampoline, knowing full well it'll spill as soon as I move. I shift on the trampoline and hug him. He cries into my shoulder for a while until his head lowers into my lap. We sit like that for a while, Al crying while I pet his hair. We used to sit like this all the time as kids. Al would lay his head down on my lap and cry.

"I don't hate you," I tell him softly, the bubbles finally allowing me to speak. "I really don't, Al. I don't hate you." Al just keeps crying and I look up at the sky. The stars really don't change, do they? They just stay the same. They're in the same position, day or night, until they burn up. And when they burn up, new ones take their place. They're constant. I see why Al wanted to eat dinner under the stars. They're constant and I guess he needed the reminder that somethings never really change.

Al falls asleep after crying for a while. My food his smushed into the mesh of the trampoline and I figure that Al's not gonna eat his food so I pick off his plate. I stare up at the stars, a million thoughts in my brain. I think about how guilty Al feels and how only time will fix that. I think about driving and school and college. I think about how soon Teacher will have foster kids in her life. I think about how soon, Dada might start dating Lucy. I think about how that will change everything, especially if they get super serious. I think about how in a couple years, Ling won't ask me to parties anymore. I think about how in a couple years, Al will live in this big house alone. My brain never stops thinking. But the stars are pretty. They somehow calm me down, even though I have a thousand anxious thoughts in my head. Al's pretty smart. He seems to know what both of need before I even realize that I need it. My brother's literally one of the best people I know. The thought of leaving him in a couple years terrifies me because Al can't come with me. And maybe he never will. He may not pick the same school. He may not even go to school. If he doesn't get better, his anxiety might turn him into someone who stays inside on Tumblr all day. I shudder. Never mind; Al would never do that. He knows better. He knows that nothing gets better unless you decide to make it better. That doesn't always work of course, but he's trying. Al's not a quitter, so he's gonna keep trying. He's gonna go to school and become a vet. Or maybe a doctor. Or maybe a research scientist. Or a teacher. Al can be whatever he wants to be.

I shift, Al stirring on my lap. Part of me never wants to leave the trampoline. This trampoline has a lot of memories. Whenever Dada was home, we'd play on it. We'd run on it, jump on it, and pretend we could fly. Winry would come over and we'd play stupid games on it, playing until we were sore. I like this trampoline. If I could, I'd take it with me to college but I can't. It needs to stay here. It needs to be here when I come home so Al and Winry and I can lay on it and watch the clouds. It's silly but it does. I squirm, still water on the trampoline beginning to soak my pants. The cold fall air hits it and that's when I realize it's not rain water. There wasn't any rain water on the trampoline 'cause if there was, both Al and me would have gotten wet a long time ago. I think Al might have peed on the trampoline. I feel bad that my immediate thought is how gross it is. It's not his fault. She made us drink household cleaner growing up. It messed with our insides and that's part of the reason we still wet the bed. Usually abuse survivors don't do that unless they went through the sex stuff and we didn't. I mean, they do, just not like we do. I pet his hair, a sigh escaping my lips. If I get up, his head will get pee on it and I won't let that happen.

"Ed?"

I squint in the night and I can barely make out Dada. He's in his robe so I know it's late. He walks over, brow furrowing at me. "Hey," I say once he makes it over.

"What are you two doing?" He asks. "I went to tell you both goodnight and you weren't in your room."

"We decided to eat out here," I tell him. "Al fell asleep." Dad smiles warmly and bends down. He pets Al's hair and straightens his back.

"You both need to be in bed," he chuckles.

"I know," I say, "But I really shouldn't move right now."

"Why?" Dada asks.

"Ally had an accident," I tell him.

"On the trampoline?" Dad questions.

"He's asleep," I remind him.

"Right," Dad sighs. "Still – you can't stay out here all night. You have school tomorrow." I nod.

"Okay," I say.

"Don't worry," Dada says. "I'll wake him." I nod again and Dad gently shakes Al. "C'mon, baby," he says gently, "Get up. You need to get in bed." Al stirs, sitting up and yawning loudly.

"Mmm, Dada?" He asks tiredly. "Ed?"

"You fell asleep," I explain. Al hangs his head.

"Oh," he yawns.

"C'mon, honey," Dad says, taking his hand. "You need to go to bed." Al nods and slides off the trampoline. I get off too, watching as Al wobbles on his feet.

"Ugh," he groans.

"Me too," I agree, Al laughing weakly.

"You two are so silly," Dad comments. "Falling asleep on a trampoline. Mom would think it was funny." We make it inside and it looks like Al doesn't even realize what happened. It's not until we're upstairs that he freezes. Blush crawls across his cheeks and he cups his face.

"I'm so sorry," he manages to say.

"No worries," I say with a grin. "No big deal." Al whimpers and I don't want him to cry again. I don't know what else to do so I blurt, "It wasn't you." Dad looks at me and asks with his eyes what I'm doing. I tell him that I'm trying to prevent a meltdown so close to bed and Dada lets me continue. "It was me, Al." Al stares at me and I word vomit a bit; "I, uh, well, you know. Too much soda or something. I don't know. I dozed off and well, you know. So it wasn't you, okay? Don't cry again. It wasn't you." Al blinks at me before he bursts into laughter. I stare at him, waiting for Al to get a hold of himself.

"Brother," he laughs, "You're an awful liar." I blink and Al grins. "But I feel better. Thanks."

"Uh, yeah," I reply. "No problem." Al gives me a brief hug before walking into our room. Dada chuckles beside me.

"He's right, you know," he tells me. "You are a terrible liar." I laugh.

"Good news for you, right?" I tease.

"Well, I suppose," he hums. He pats my back and says, "Night, Ed."

"G'night, Dada," I reply, watching him walk off. I walk into my room, Al getting ready to take a shower. I get dressed and Al leaves, leaving me to stare at the ceiling. I've been having trouble sleeping lately. Like actually falling asleep. Then staying asleep. Oh. So yeah; I'm having trouble sleeping. My brain's been full speed for a while. I can't get it to slow down, not even for a minute. Since my brain won't stop thinking, I get to lay awake in bed and stare at the ceiling. Then I get to wake up screaming from endless nightmares that never leave me alone. My life really sucks sometimes. Not that I'm complaining or anything. Okay, maybe I am. But I think you need to complain sometimes.

Al comes back in a few minutes later. The light's still on so I can see that his hair's still wet. He's dressed already and he grabs Chico from his bed before shutting the lights off and lying down next to me. He sighs deeply and I nod. Somehow I know what he means; what he's feeling all from that sigh. I just know. We know each other in ways I can't describe to someone else. So I know what a sigh means. I know what nervous glances and whimpers mean. Al says so much to me without ever saying anything. He rolls over and I guess he's not in the mood to talk. He was really tired – tired enough to fall asleep on the trampoline. I know he's nervous about the shelter tomorrow but I don't have any words for him. I can't tell him that he'll be fine or that he'll have fun or that it won't be scary. I can't tell him because I don't know. I don't know if he'll be fine or if he'll have fun or that it won't be scary. I can hope for all those things but I can't tell him 'cause I don't know. But I wish I had some words for him. I just don't.

I wake with a start, my chest heaving. My body's drenched in what I hope is just sweat and I don't remember falling asleep. I run a hand through my hair and have a sudden urge to pee. So it is all sweat. I put my leg on and hurry out of the room. My heart's beating funny. It's the fence. That dumb dream again. When I'm done peeing I splash cold water on my face, trying to get myself to calm down. There's no fence. I'm safe. No one's chasing me, no one's gonna hurt me. I'm safe. I shut my eyes, doing those breathing exercises Dr. Hughes taught to me. He tells me to do them when my chest feels tight or when I'm just breathing funny. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I repeat that for a few minutes, my heart finally beating normally. I open my eyes, my tired face staring back at me. There are bags under my eyes and they're kinda purple. Like I got punched in the face. But no one's punched me in the face in two years. Hopefully no one will again. I sigh, deciding I'm calm enough to go back to bed. I'll just wedge Lamby between my legs and chest while sleeping a little closer to Al.

I shut off the bathroom light and get into the hallway when I hear a blood curdling scream coming from my room. I freeze, waiting. My heart gets the better of me, fearing that she's back and hurting Al. Al. I blink, realizing that Al's having either a nightmare or a night terror and I don't know which is worse. Okay, maybe I do. It's the night terrors. When we have those, we scream and cry and kick and nothing Dada does ends it. I hurry back to my room, Al thrashing in bed. He's whimpering, begging for someone to keep away from him. I still can't tell if he's having a bad dream or not. Either way, I'm not getting back in bed until he's calm. He's actually kicked me in the face before by accident and damn, that hurt. I slowly approach the bed, Al moaning loudly. His face is sweaty, twisted into a scared grimace. He screams again and I know it's a night terror. Well, it's probably a night terror. I leave the room again and hurry into Dada's room. I shake him awake, Dad groaning and sitting up.

"What's the matter?" He asks sleepily.

"Al's having a night terror, I think," I say.

"Again?" Dada asks, swinging his legs over the bed.

"I think," I repeat. "Might be a bad nightmare. It's hard to tell." Dad stands.

"If it's a night terror there's nothing we can do," Dada reminds me. "We just have to wait it out." I nod, though I notice the screaming's stopped. We get closer to my room and I can hear him crying. Nightmare. Good. That's easier to deal with by a long shot. Just give him hugs until he calms down. We go in, Al looking up at us from the doorway. I stay back and let Dad work. While I'm good at getting Al to calm down, I've noticed that Dad likes to do it. Probably 'cause it makes him feel like a good dad or something. Dada sits on the edge of my bed, Al sobbing loudly.

"Hey, baby," he coos. Al whimpers and crawls over to him. He lays his head down on Dada's lap and cries loudly. Dad pets his hair, whispering to him. He whispers things like "you're safe" and "it was a dream" trying to get him to calm down. After a few minutes, Al does calm down, Dad smiling warmly at him and kissing his head.

"Did you wet the bed?" Dad asks softly. Al shakes his head.

"No," he answers with a shaking voice. Dad smiles.

"Well, look at that," Dada says, Al sitting up. He stares at Dad with wide eyes and Dad pokes his nose. Al giggles softly and Dad says the words I know Al loves more than anything else; "I'm so proud of you." Al practically melts, I think. I can tell. He's full of that warm sugar and doesn't ever want to have to give it up. Al crawls out of bed and there's this goofy, tired grin on his face.

"Mmm," he hums. "I'm gonna pee and then I'm going back to bed."

"Sounds like a plan," Dad yawns. "Gonna sleep with me, boys?" We shrug.

"We don't have to," I say, Al yawning.

"Alright," Dad replies, kissing my forehead. "Sweet dreams, boys." He leaves and I groan.

"Ugh," I moan, flopping down on my bed. I grab Lamby, my eye lids already drooping. Suddenly Al's beside me and I ask, "Weren't you going to pee?"

"I did," he answers.

"Oh," I say. "Must have missed it."

"You did," he laughs softly. "You were totally spaced." I nod.

"I'm going to sleep now," I tell him. Al nods and wraps his arms around Chico. "G'night, Al."

"Night, Brother," Al replies softly.

You know what? I don't remember having another bad dream that whole night.


	9. Al Volunteers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al likes cats in case you didn't know.

The school day flew by like normal. Unlike yesterday, though, I don't remember it. The only thing I do remember is Ling going on and on about how great the party was on Saturday. None of us really had things to say, though, so he just kept talking. Finally, Winry said something about the garage so the party talk ended. It wasn't until then that Ling asked what we did with our weekend. We told him about the trampoline and I somehow found the courage to say he could come over sometime to use it. He seemed excited and said that his parents never got him one even though he's always wanted one. Lunch ended after that and I can barely remember my afternoon classes. I meet Al by my locker and Mei's there too. Her mom's taking us to the shelter and I can tell she's still nervous. Even though she doesn't have to spend the afternoon alone with Al, she's still nervous. He's nervous too but there's this excited look on his face that I can't ignore. He'll be fine. He won't need me to go with him in a week or two. We walk out to the car and Mei's mom is on the phone.

"Hey, Mom," she greets. Mei's mom looks over at her and Mei huffs. Al and I sit in the back, watching the awkwardness in the front.

"I don't care that the shipping's been delayed," her mom says over the phone. "I need it tomorrow or the deal goes through. Make it work, Daniels." She hangs up and groans.

"Mom, you remember Ed and Al, right?" Mei asks, trying to strike up conversation.

"The little blond boys Ling never shuts up about?" Her mom questions. "Vaguely."

"Well, that's Ed and his younger brother Al," Mei tries.

"Pleasure," she answers, not even looking at us. "You can call me Shu if you want. Don't care."

"Uh, thanks for the ride, Mrs. Shu," I say, trying to be polite. Shu cringes in her seat.

"Drop the misses, kid," she tells me. Al shifts nervously in his seat. The tone in her voice is familiar and in a bad way. It reminds us of her.

"Mom," Mei whines, "Be nice! They're helping at the shelter!"

"You know I don't care about that, dear," she says rudely. "That little shelter is an eyesore. If we ever want this town to be more than the backwash of the Midwest, we should start by bulldozing failing businesses."

"It's not a business, Mom," Mei points out. "It's a nonprofit organization."

"You know I hate those," Shu says. "Nonprofits are tax-deductible monsters that leech of the hardworking."

"Ugh," Mei groans. She turns in her seat and whispers, "Sorry. She's always like this." She turns to Al and notices he's shaking. Her brow furrows worriedly and she asks, "Are you okay, Al?" Al swallows and puts on the biggest smile he can muster.

"I'm okay," he replies. "Don't worry about me, 'kay?"

"Okay," Mei says, not convinced.

"So what will Al be doing today?" I ask. Mei drums her finger on her chin in though.

"Let's see," she hums, "Well, mostly paper work. But when he's done he can play in the cat room."

"That sounds wonderful," Al says. "I need to have a ton of cats walk all over me."

"Dada will kill you if you come home covered in cat hair," I laugh. "We're having Teacher over tonight."

"Oh, yeah," he chuckles.

"Who's Teacher?" Mei asks.

"Our martial arts instructor," Al explains. "We've been learning under her since I was eight."

"Wow!" Mei cries. "I didn't know that! What belt are you?"

"Honestly, we don't know," I say. "She doesn't teach that way. It's not like a dojo or anything."

"Oh," Mei says. "Well, you should get tested sometime in a dojo to see where you place. Ling's a black belt. Earned it last year. I'm learning too. I'm only a green belt but I'm good, swear! I just haven't done it as long."

"We believe you," Al assures her. "Testing might be fun, Brother."

"Yeah but there's nothing above black," I say, leaning back. "If I'm gonna test, I need to beat Ling." Mei laughs.

"I think you could," she tells me lightly. "He's good, but lacks focus. He can't stay concentrated long enough to really perform well. It took him forever to get his black belt."  
"You mean Ling has issues focusing?" I ask sarcastically. "Never would have guessed."

"Shut up," Mei laughs.

"Kids, could you please shut up?" Shu asks, killing our conversation. "Mommy has a headache, Mei, and I'm not done yelling at my incompetent employees." Mei groans.

"Fine," Mei mumbles, crossing her arms. Shu picks her phone back up and we don't talk again the rest of the ride.

The shelter is right on the edge of town. It's the county shelter, so two other towns nearby bring strays and shit here. Mostly, though, people just leave boxes of kittens and puppies on the doorstep. The shelter's already full and people just aren't adopting. Bad economy. Or something. That's what Dada says. Shu drops us off and leaves before confirming how Mei's getting home. I can tell her mom's attitude really bugs Mei. Usually Mei's a pretty happy kid but she's cranky now. I don't blame her. Her mom's kind of a bitch. Not that I'd say that out loud. Shu makes my anxiety go crazy because she reminds me of her. I know Al feels the same. We walk in, the secretary greeting us warmly. Al's shaking and I take his hand to try and calm him down. She asks if we'll both be volunteering and I turn her down. This is Al's thing. It should stay that way. It'll help him take those baby steps into being more independent, something I know every adult in my life wants to see. So she hands Al a clipboard while Mei gets to work. Al starts filling out his sheet and it occurs to me that we've never had a pet. Like, a real one. We've had fish but they always die and the one time we had a hamster, she killed it. So yeah. We've never had a pet. Guess I've always wanted one. A dog sounds awesome. I could take him for walks, teach him to fetch, and he could sleep at the foot of my bed, keeping me safe. He'd tackle Al and lick him and even Dada would like him. Yeah; we need a dog.

Al finishes filling everything out and the secretary gives us both a tour. She points out where the bathrooms are first before moving on to the shelter. It's fairly small and full of animals. Dogs live on the first floor with the administration, cats are in the basement. We see all the dogs, Al petting a couple as we walk by. She takes us down stairs and Mei grins at us. She's cleaning litter boxes but has the biggest smile on her face. It's clear she loves it her. Al grins back and I can tell that Al'll love it too. I actually think he already does. She explains what Al will be doing since he said he'd rather work with cats and shows him to the cat room. Inside are like fifteen or twenty cats and they rush over. He doesn't have food or anything, but they come over to check him out. All except one. There's this fluffy white cat sitting on a cat condo, just staring at the wall. Mei walks in and Al points to the cat.

"What's up with that one?" He asks. Mei sets down the container of food she's holding and sighs.

"Picard's got a broken heart," she explains.

"How come?" Al asks as I tease a cat with my shoe.

"His owner was real old and died a few months ago," Mei begins sadly. "The person who took him in was real mean. He was abused there." I stand up straight, my heart stalling. Al's face pales and Mei nods. "I know," she says sadly. "It's awful, isn't it? He hasn't been eating and won't let anyone near him. I don't know how much longer he'll make it." Mei shakes her head and walks off to feed the cats and I walk over to Al. He's staring at that skinny cat, his eyes filled with so many emotions.

"You okay?" I ask. Al shakes his head.

"No," he answers, walking toward the cat. Picard bristles, scooting back in fear as Al reaches a hand toward him. "It's okay," I hear Al whisper to the cat, "I understand you." Picard slowly blinks at him before pushing his head into Al's hand. Al chokes and I nervously glance over at Mei. She's busy cleaning boxes so I doubt she'll notice Al for a while. Al strokes the fluffy white cat, tears running down his face.

"Hey," I say softly, "It's okay." Al shakes his head, Picard backing off as I approach.

"Why do people do that?" Al asks, Picard cowering in fear. "Why do people…." He trails off, hiding his face with his arm.

"I…." I'm not sure what to say. I don't know why people abuse things. I really don't. I never have. With her I always figured it was 'cause we were bad. But Dr. Hughes tells me that's not true. He says that she was sick. She was mean. We didn't deserve it. I'm not sure about that, but I do know one thing; poor Picard didn't deserve what happened to him. He's just a cat. I reach a hand out, Picard hissing lightly at me.

"It's okay, Captain," I tell him. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Picard stares at me and inches back over. He allows me to pet him and Al's still crying.

"I'll be back," Mei calls from the door.

"Okay," I call back. I wonder if she noticed Al crying. I hope not. That would open a whole can of worms that we're not ready to open for her yet. "Al, c'mon," I say, "Stop crying."

"I can't," he replies. "The tears won't stop."

"Yeah, but if Mei catches you she'll ask what's wrong," I remind him. Al nods and takes Chico out from his backpack. He holds the stuffed cat up to his face and cries into it for a minute. He calms down, stuffing Chico back into his backpack before Mei can ask what it is.

"I want him," Al tells me.

"Who?" I ask. "Dada? Chico?" Al shakes his head.

"Picard," he clarifies. I blink.

"You do?" I ask. Al nods, delicately petting the cat who's terrified we'll hurt him.

"Yeah," he answers. "I get him; you know? We both do."

"Then we'll ask Dad," I say. "He'll say yes." To my surprise, Al shakes his head.

"I don't know if Picard can wait that long," he tells me. "His eyes look like yours did a year ago. You almost didn't make it." I look away. Last year I got low. The nightmares were bad and I was doing stuff I'm not proud of. I considered killing myself for a while but the thought of leaving Al alone to deal with the shit I wasn't strong enough to deal with kept me here. And Al's right. That cat has that look. That look that he can't make it much longer in the situation he's in. I know that look.

"What are you going to do?" I ask.

"I'm taking him home," Al tells me. "And Dada can kill me if he wants." I blink.

"Al," I say, "Dad could get really mad. You shouldn't."

"I am," he argues softly. "He needs me." I look at the cat and I realize Al's right. That cat does need him.

"Okay," I say. "How can I help?"

This is crazy. That's the only thought in my head. This is crazy. We're adopting a cat without Dad's permission. We don't have food or a box or anything a cat needs. But we're adopting a cat. Mei watches and as soon as all the paper work is filled out, I call Dada. I wait for him to answer, knowing we might get a lecture. We went behind his back. We didn't ask if it was okay. We just went ahead and did it anyway. But if Dada could see Al, he'd know why. The fluffy white cat who was so afraid of being touched is purring in Al's lap. He's all curled up like a slipper or something and is purring. Al's petting him behind his ears and all the staff can say is how Picard never lets anyone pet him. Ever. He always hisses and swipes them whenever they try. But he trusts Al. He trusts me. And something tells me he wouldn't trust anyone else. Match made in Heaven I suppose.

"Hello?" Dad says on the other end, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Hey, Dada," I reply.

"Oh, Ed," he laughs. "You kids done?  
"Yeah," I answer, "Uh, Dad?"

"What?" He asks.

"We, uh, adopted a cat," I tell him. There's a pause before Dad starts laughing.

"What?"

"We adopted a cat," I repeat.

"Edward," he beings, "How could you without asking first?"

"Well, you see, this cat's been…abused and Al felt connected to him," I say. "Oh, Dada, just wait 'til you see it. This cat who never lets anyone pet him is curled up on Al's lap, purring. He trusts us, Dad, and we understand him. Please don't be mad! Al'll do all the work, honest! We only need you to pay for him! If you won't, Al and I will do chores until we can!" Dad sighs on the other end.

"What's his name?" I exhale; we did it. Picard's part of the family now.

"Picard," I answer. "Your favorite captain. He's fluffy and white with blue eyes."

"Oh, Ed," Dad begins, "Everyone knows that Sisko is my favorite captain."

"You wish," I scoff. "Your fave is Picard. Quit playin'. Sisko's too hard core for you." Dad laughs.

"You got me," Dad says. "I'll pick up some cat stuff before coming to get you so Al doesn't have to go in a store."

"Good plan," I say. "His anxiety's kinda high."

"See you soon, then," Dada says. "Love you."

"Love you too," I reply, hanging up.

"Well?" Al asks nervously.

"He's cool with it," I say, sitting down.

"Really?" Al breathes.

"Yeah," I answer. "The name helps."

"Favorite captain," Al chuckles. He scratches Picard's ears and says, "I like Janeway the best."

"Kirk," I say. "Kirk all the way." Al shakes head.

"He's too…. Well, he's too impulsive."

"Are you talking about Star Trek?" Mei asks, sitting down next to Al. She pets Picard's head and Al nods.

"Yeah," he replies. "We're all kind of nerds." Mei smiles.

"I've only seen the new movies," Mei begins, "But maybe sometime you could show me the shows."

"That would take forever," Al says. Mei's face falls and he says, "I'm in." Mei looks at him.

"Really?" She asks. Al nods, a smile on his face.

"Yeah," he says. "You could come over and we could watch all the shows from the beginning. It would take a long time to get through all of them but it'd be fun." Mei grins broadly and Al's cheeks turn slightly pink.

"Thanks, Al!" Mei cries. "You're the best!" Al tries to cover his face, the cat making it almost impossible for him to do it.

As soon as Dad sees Picard, I know we made the right choice. His face melts at the sight of the fluffy cat on Al's lap and I can tell he's wondering why we hadn't done this sooner. Al with a cat looks right. No use denying that. It's so natural. Dad introduces himself to Mei (They've never met before) and Al carries Picard to the car. The cat doesn't squirm, not once, and doesn't hiss either. Al sits in the back with Mei, showing Picard all the cat toys Dada has spoiled him with. Mei giggles, her eyes locked on Al as he gently pets the cat and shows him all the things Dad bought for him. I ask Dad as we pull away from the shelter if he got all the stuff for dinner tonight. He nods and asks me if I'm ready to cook. I say I am and Al chimes from the back seat that he is too. Picard gets comfy on Al's lap and Al looks like he swallowed a whole bottle of sunshine. Bet he feels that way too.

We drop Mei off at her place and head home. Once we get home, Al sets up Picard's things for him and hurries into the kitchen. We get the water boiling and preheat the oven so the biscuits can bake. Picard sits on the counter, his blue eyes following our every move. His entire demeanor has changed. He's not a cowering scaredy-cat anymore. He's kinda what I imagine Al and I will be when we're all better. When we're better, we won't be scared all the time either. We'll be like that fluffy cat. We'll be the ones who got better instead of dying. Al plays with Picard while the noodles cook and I laugh. There's this cat teaser thing with a mouse on it and Picard likes that one the best. He bats at it and watches as Al swings it around. Soon it's time to cook the hotdogs, the doorbell ringing. That freaks Picard out; he hisses and runs away. Al finds him under Dad's bed and gets scratched trying to get him. Al cries for a minute before realizing that Picard is in a new place and is scared. Plus, meeting Teacher and Sig might be scary for him. Al decides to leave the cat under the bed for now. We go to the door, smiling at Teacher and Sig. Teacher hands me a bottle of sparkling grape juice.

"Brought a bottle of our own," she says, walking in. "Hope you don't mind." I grin and shake my head.

"'Course not," I tell them. Sig ruffles my hair as he walks inside.

"Your hair's getting long," he comments. I close the door and nod.

"I'm growing it out," I tell him as Al fights for his attention. Sig ruffles Al's hair and nods.

"Suits you," he says.

"Dada!" I call, "Teacher and Sig are here!"

"Teacher!" Al says excitedly. "I got a cat!"

"You did?" She asks, sitting down. Al nods.

"His name's Picard," Al tells her eagerly. "He's fluffy and white and has pretty blue eyes!"

"When'd you get him?" Teacher asks.

"Today," he says.

"You haven't mentioned getting a cat," Sig says.

"Yeah," Al replies. "We weren't really planning on getting a pet."

"So why did you?" Teacher prompts.

"Well, I'm volunteering at the shelter and today I saw him all alone and scared," Al begins. "His owners…abused him and I don't know. I understand him somehow. I knew he needed me so I adopted him."

"He didn't even ask Dad," I add.

"That doesn't sound like Al," Teacher laughs. "He always asks permission."

"Usually," I agree lightly. "But Al's been brave lately."

"That's good," Teacher muses, "But don't let that go to your head, Al."

"I won't," he laughs. "Promise."

"Good boy," Teacher praises. Al smiles so big I think his face might split.

Dinner was a lot of fun. We talked about school and work and even mentioned martial arts. I told them how Mei thinks we should test and Teacher thinks that a good idea. Because I'm curious so I asked what belt she thinks we are. Teacher shrugged but said that she thought we were both close to black belt. That made us feel awesome and I think Teacher figured it would. She likes to build us up when she sees us. I think she's trying to undo everything she told us. I don't know. After Sig and Teacher left we cleaned up the kitchen and did homework. Picard finally reemerged a couple hours after they left and sat on Al's lap until Dad told us to go to bed. The cat follows Al everywhere like a little duckling and I can tell Al's eating it up. I think he likes being needed. I don't know. We go to bed, Al thumping his bed until Picard leaps up and lies down. I grin, shaking my head. Yeah, the cat was a good idea. I knew it was. Plus, I do think Picard needed us. More specifically, though, I think Picard needed Al. Al helped that cat come out of his shell and be the cat he could be. Picard needed to feel safe and Al makes him feel that way. But I also think Al needed Picard. Al needs something more than Chico sometimes. Something that can purr and comfort him the way a stuffed animal can't. Something that can comfort him when me or Dada aren't around to do it. Yeah. Picard needed Al but Al needed Picard too.

I can't sleep. I've been staring at the ceiling for a couple hours. My mind is going crazy, thinking about what I'm going to talk about in group tomorrow. I've realized that it's impossible to give them every detail of what happened. It really is. But I'm going to hit as many highlights as I can. I'll talk about when Dada came home after the first week of hell. I'll talk about the basement and the chain. Al'll talk about the trunk. Eventually I'll talk about the fence. We'll talk about the games, the chores, the mirror. Soon, nearly every piece of us will be exposed to them. At the thought of that I sit up. I don't think I'm ready for people, especially strangers, to know. Winry doesn't even know about it. I mean, she knows that we were abused by her for seven years but that's all she knows. She doesn't know about the chores, the mirror, the chain, the trunk, or the basement. She doesn't know about any of it. Neither does Granny or Dada or Ling or Mei. Nobody we actually care about knows any of that but I'm going to tell a group full of kids I don't know. It's weird. I look over at Al. The cat's curled up at his feet, Chico's ears peeking out from under the covers. Cereal. That's what I need. I put my leg on and leave the room. I keep the door cracked like always and walk down stairs. I pour some cereal into a bowl and grab the milk. I hate milk, but I hate dry cereal more than I hate milk. I always pour the milk down the sink. Maybe Picard will want it. I stand at the sink and eat. My eyes are itching but now that I've started my cereal I can't go to bed until I'm finished.

"Meow."

I glance down, grinning when I see Picard brushing himself up against my leg. I squat down, set the bowl of milk down, and pet his soft fur. "Hey, bud," I whisper. "Want my milk?" The cat meows at me again and sticks his face into my bowl. He drinks the milk and I watch. "You know something?" I ask the cat, "Al really needed you. I know you needed him too. You're gonna be safe here, Captain. I promise." Picard licks his lips and butts his head into my arm. I pet his head and grab the empty bowl. I toss the bowl in the sink and walk off, Picard staring at me. I make it up the stairs and Al starts screaming. Another night, another nightmare. I walk in, Al thrashing around in bed. Picard meows at me from the hallway and I realize he came down to find me. I've read that cats respond to disasters and can be trained to get people out of anxiety attacks. But since Picard has been in our house for less than twelve hours I figured that he wouldn't be doing things like that. But maybe Al and Picard really do understand each other. Maybe they really did need each other. I pause, wondering if I should get Dada or not. But before I decide, though, Al sits up right in bed, screaming. I stare at him and we make eye contact, my brother's chest heaving. Picard meows from the hallway again, almost like he's urging me to do something. So I do. I walk over, Al staring nervously at me.

"Hey," I say. Al flinches and hurries away from me. "Al?" He shakes his head, falling out of bed as he tries to get away from me. It's been awhile since he's been so scared after a bad dream that he forgot where he was. It's been so long I've forgotten it happens. I follow him,  
Al cowering in the corner.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," I try again. "You're okay. It's Brother, Ally. You're safe." Al lowers his hands, his eyes still filled with tears. I blink, realizing they're hazel today. I shake my head and focus my attention back on Al.

"B-Brother?" I nod.

"Yeah," I whisper. "You're okay now. It's over. You're okay." Al's lip quivers and he starts crying. I crawl over and wrap my arms around him. "Shh, it's okay. It was a dream." Al keeps crying, Picard meowing at me. I turn my head, the cat trotting over. He tilts his head to the side and meows loudly. I tell him with my eyes that he'll be okay, forgetting that Picard probably doesn't understand our eye language. Picard blinks and walks over, rubbing his head on Al's arm. Al takes one of his arms that's wrapped around me and pets the cat. I rub his back, Al slowly calming down.

"That cat really likes you," I tell him. Al pulls away.

"I guess," he answers, his knees now resting against his chest.

"Seriously," I say. "He came down looking for me when your nightmare started. I think he really likes you." Picard is lying next to Al, his paws tucked under his body. Al takes a hand and strokes Picard's fur, sniffling loudly.

"Why would he?" He asks miserably. "There's nothing likable about me."

"Al," I breathe. "That's not true." Al doesn't say anything and I'm not sure what to do. This was me last year. And no matter what Al said, I still felt like I was unlikable. That everyone hated me and thought I was a fuck up. I know how bad he feels. I wish I could take it from him but I can't. Feelings aren't transferable.

"If that was true," I begin, "Mei wouldn't have asked you to volunteer. If that was true, Ling wouldn't invite you to parties and Winry wouldn't play with you on the trampoline. You're so much more likeable than you think, Al." Al shrugs.

"I like Picard," Al says softly. "It's nice to know that maybe he likes me back."

"He definitely likes you back," I tell him. "He opened up to you after weeks of not allowing anyone to go near him at the shelter. Picard likes you. You're his number one." Al chuckles.

"Really?" He asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "You're the Riker in his life. He needs you and you need him. Trust me on this one." Al grins and picks the cat up.

"I do like you," he tells the cat. Picard paws at his face and Al sets him down.

"You okay?" I ask. He shrugs.

"I guess," he answers. "I did, uh, wet the bed."

"No worries," I tell him. "I'll take care of it." Al stands and shakes his head.

"I can do it," he insists.

"Al, I want to," I tell him. I want to do things for him sometimes. I want him to still need me, even if he's going to be more independent. Actually, I need him to need me. Guess I'm as needy as a cat is.

"Well, okay," Al yawns.

"Go put on dry jammies, Al," I instruct. I grab Chico, grateful that he's only minimally damp. I hand him to Al and he walks off. I strip his bed, yawning because suddenly I'm exhausted. I throw the sheets in the dirty clothes and crawl into bed. Al comes back and crawls into bed next to me. He's still shaking and I sigh.

"You're still freaked out, huh?" I ask.

"Yeah," he yawns. I stare at the ceiling, wondering when Al and me will be able to sleep like normal people. Nights like these make me worry that we never will.

"You gonna be okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," he repeats.

"I'll be right here if you get scared," I tell him. Al nods and rolls over. I grab Lamby and roll over too, Picard staring at me. He dips his head and me and runs out of the room. That cat is weird. But he knew that Al needed me so I guess weird is good. Al's breathing deepens and I know he's out. His breathing calms me down and soon my eyes close, allowing me to finally sleep.


	10. When Dada Comes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed tells more of his story to the most eager audience ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! So there's descriptions of child abuse as well as a minor anxiety attack. Just throwing that out there as a warning so if those things make you uncomfortable you know ahead of time! Thanks again for all the kudos and enjoy!

It's raining. Huge drops that rocket from the sky, soaking us as we run from Dad's car to the building. School was boring like usual and I don't remember it. All I've been able to think about is group. All I can think about is how I'm not really ready to spill all my secrets to the group but how I'm going to. All I can think about is telling my story. My terrible, awful, nightmarish story. The story that for some reason everyone wants to hear. I still think it's 'cause I told it first. I could be wrong but that's all I've got. Al's holding my hand like usual. I actually don't think he's let go all day. I mean, he let go when we separated for class but when we're together we're holding hands. He's nervous. He told me with his eyes earlier. Like me, he's not sure he's ready for a group of strangers to know our stories. But at the same time he told me he wants me to tell. Even though we're both not ready to tell our story, we both think that somehow telling it will help us to stop running from it. We get to the room and Al whimpers. I pull him aside and he won't look at me.

"Al?" I ask. He shakes his head, shaking violently. "What's the matter?" Al stays quiet and I get worried. "Did something happen at school?" At the mention of school, he flinches but soon shakes his head. Now I know something happened. "Was someone mean to you?" Al stays still and I can tell he's thinking about if he's going to tell me or not.

"Let's just go," he finally says. He tries to walk away but I grip his hand tighter. He stares at me, his eyes begging me to let it go.

"What happened?" I say. I have no intention of letting it go. Letting it go really isn't my style. Someone hurt Al. I need to know about it. Al takes a shaky breath.

"Well," he begins, "Lately I've been…. People have been…. School's been hard since I had my panic attack in gym. Ryan Vaus told everyone about it so everyone knows. People have been…pushing me around lately." My heart beats wildly and I hold his hand even tighter.

"Are you hurt?" I ask through a clenched jaw. Al doesn't reply so I know he is. "Where?"

"It doesn't matter," Al dismisses. "C'mon. We should go."

"Hold on a second!" I cry. "Why haven't you told me? Who the hell hurt you?!" Al starts cowering and I know I've been too loud with him.

"I'm sorry," he manages to say. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Ally, it's okay," I tell him. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry." Al sniffles and wipes his face.

"Can we go now?" He asks, his lip still trembling.

"Yeah, we can go," I reply. I'm going to find out what happened to Al; what's been happening to Al. But for now I'll let it go. He's anxious and I made him that way. Sort of. So I'll let it go for now. I'm not gonna push him. He doesn't need me to do that. I guide him in and we take our same seats. Dr. Hughes walks over and we talk a little before everyone comes in. Like last week I set my watch for thirty minutes and wait. I wait for someone else to start; for someone else to jump in a tell their story. When no one does, I start the timer and start talking.

"The rest of that week was very similar to that first day. We had an impossible schedule to follow and got beaten whenever we failed. I think we only went to school once that whole week and I remember that we didn't even get a bath. She made us go in our nasty clothes and when she got called about it claimed that we were going through a phase. She made us drink her strange mix of chemicals every morning and we were lucky if we got fed. Every night she made us stand in front of a mirror, chanting over and over how we were bad. If we didn't say it, she'd smash our faces against the glass and force us to. She would hit us so hard that our noses bled and she'd smear our blood against the glass. I remember thinking the worst; that Dad had left us forever. That he was never coming home. But even worse than that was the idea that maybe if Dada did come home, he'd think we were bad and deserved what Vanessa was doing to us. That was definitely the worst thought I had.

"But then one night we took a bath. We got fed. She yelled at us a ton but didn't lay a finger on us. Our bruises were slowly healing and the visible ones were mostly gone. She hadn't hit us on our arms, legs, or faces for a couple of days. I was too scared to ask why she stopped but that night I remembered that Dada was coming home. I was terrified. Terrified of what she'd tell him about us. Terrified that he'd be okay with her hurting us. Terrified that he was going to abandon us. I cried most of that night, Al sleeping fitfully beside me. It was Saturday when Dada came home. We got dressed and met him at the airport. I squirmed on my feet, wondering what Dad was going to do. Was he going to yell at us? Was he going to hit us like Vanessa did? Was Dada even coming home at all? As soon as I saw him, though, I ran. I ran right to him, Dada scooping me up and kissing me all over my face. Al ran over too, tugging on his arm and begging for his attention. We both started crying, Dad struggling to hold both Al and me at the same time.

"'They really missed you,' Vanessa told him in that sweet voice that we hadn't heard in over a week. Instead of comforting us like it used to, it sent shivers down our backs. We knew better now.

'I missed them too,' Dada said, his beard tickling my face as he kissed me over and over again. 'I missed my silly boys so much.' Al wrapped his limbs around Dada, too scared to say anything. I didn't talk either as Vanessa stepped closer.

'They weren't the best behaved while you were gone,' she said, my blood running cold. Dada shook his head.

'Well, that's to be expected,' he replied, walking toward the luggage retrieval. 'This is the first time I've been away so long since Trisha died. They'll be better next time, hon.'

'Daddy,' Al whined, finally opening his mouth. 'I gotta go potty.' Even though she hadn't hit us, she still made us stick to that dumb schedule that only allowed three potty breaks a day. One in the morning, one at noon, one at night. Neither of us were old enough to follow that schedule and that led to lots of beatings as you can imagine.

'Okay, baby,' he said. 'Let Dada get his bags and then I'll take you to go potty.'

'I could take him,' Vanessa offered.

'No!' Al cried loudly, Vanessa shooting him a quick glare. Al shook his head and hid his face in Dada's shoulder. 'I wan' Daddy! I wan' Dada!'

'You shouldn't shout, Alphonse,' Vanessa warned dangerously. I sunk into Dad's frame, hoping that I could disappear somehow.

'Cut him some slack,' Dad told her. 'Baby missed his Daddy.' Vanessa crossed her arms, a fake smile on her lips.

'He's been wetting himself on purpose,' she lied, trying to get a rise out of Dad. Dad's brow furrowed and she continued, 'Even at school.'

'Al, is that true?' Dada asked worriedly. I wasn't sure what Al was going to do. Was he going to tell the truth or lie to protect our new secret?

'No,' he said. 'Accidents. I just have accidents sometimes. I don' mean to, Dada.' Dad petted his hair and kissed his forehead.

'I know, sweetie,' Dad cooed. 'I know.' He turned to Vanessa and said, 'We'll talk about it later.' That's when I knew that Dad didn't believe Al. He believed her. He thought we had been bad and Vanessa was going to tell him all sorts of things that just weren't true.

'He's not lying!' I yelled. 'Al's not a bad boy!'

'Ed, I know that,' Dada assured me. 'I know Al's not a bad boy. Al's a very good boy. He's my good boy. You're my good boy too, Ed.' My heart felt like it was dying. It was beating funny. I was unable to feel elated like I should about being called a good boy. All I could feel was fear; fear that Vanessa would snap right there in the airport and beat me in front of Dada.

'I hafta go potty,' Al whimpered, squirming in Dad's grasp.

'Why don't you go with Nessie?' Dad suggested.

'No!' Al yelled. 'I wanna stay with Daddy!'

'Ally, baby, don't you have to go potty?' Dada asked gently.

'Yeah, but I wanna stay with you!' Al cried.

'Dada,' I said, 'Nessie can get your bag and you can take us to go potty.'

'Okay, that'll work,' Dada agreed. 'You'll look for my bag?' Vanessa nodded, that fake smile still plastered on her face.

'Of course, dear,' she replied sweetly. Dad smiled at her and carried us away. I looked over Dad's shoulder at her, Vanessa glaring at me. I knew we were in for it the next time Dad went away. We messed up. We didn't go along with the false stories she had come up with. Whatever she hoped to gain out of Dada yelling at us was gone now. Dad wasn't going to yell at us. Dad was going to cradle us close and kiss us and tell us how much he missed us when he was away. That's what Dada was going to do. And Vanessa hated us for it. Dad carried us to the bathroom and asked me if I needed to go too. I nodded, even though I didn't. But I didn't know if I was going to have to follow Vanessa's schedule when I got home so I was going to take the opportunity to pee when I had it. Al started to hard core squirm as we waited, his lip quivering.

'Al, honey, stop squirming,' Dad instructed gently. 'I can't hold on to you if you keep moving.'

'Dada,' Al whimpered, his legs wrapping around Dad's middle, 'I gotta go.'

'You have to wait your turn,' Dad told him. 'It'll be your turn soon, Al.'

'Dad, I'm hungry,' I said softly.

'I know,' Dada laughed. 'I can hear your tummy talking, Ed. We'll pick up dinner on the way home.' Al was still squirming, trying to get away from Dad so he could butt in line and go pee. 'Sweetie, please hold still.'

'I gotta go,' Al said urgently.

'I know, Al, but you have to wait your turn,' Dad reminded him gently.

'I can't, Dada!' Al cried. He rubbed at his eyes and I knew he was going to cry. If something happened, if he didn't make it, he was scared that Vanessa would make him stand in front of a mirror and make him say he was bad over and over again. But more than that, I think he was scared that Dada would make him do that too. I didn't know if Dad would make him do that, but I knew Vanessa would. Even if it wasn't tonight, she'd make sure he did it the next time Dad went away.

'Want to stand?' Dad asked. Al nodded so Dada set him down. Al bounced on his feet, grabbing Dada's hand.

'Daddy,' he whined. Dad petted his hair to calm him down.

'Just think about something else,' Dad suggested. 'Think about cats or school or something you like.' Al blinked, a few tears rolling down his face and nodded.

'I like the zoo,' Al said. 'The elephants are so big!'

'That's right,' Dada agreed. 'Are they you're favorite, Ally?' Al shook his head.

'No,' he replied. 'I like the big cats best! Lions are so cute!'

'I like bears,' I chirped. 'An' tigers. An' sharks! But there are no sharks at the zoo.'

'Someday I'll take you boys to the aquarium in Chicago,' Dad said. 'There are sharks and stingrays and all sorts of things you boys would like.' The line moved a little, Al fidgeting and tugging at his shirt. Dada looked down at him and said, 'Don't worry, Al. It's your turn soon.' A few of the men around us stared, whispering about why Dada's wife wasn't taking us to the bathroom. I guess that moms do that more than dads but I remember getting mad. They didn't know that we didn't have a mom. They shouldn't have talked about something they didn't understand.

'I don' like taking turns,' Al sniffled, his fidgeting becoming frantic. 'I gotta go potty, Daddy!'

'I know you do, baby,' he said. 'Just a bit longer and it's our turn. You doing okay, Brother?' I nodded.

'Yeah,' I answered. 'I don' hafta go as bad as Ally.' The line moved again and Dada tugged on Al's arm. He tried to get Al to move but he wouldn't budge.

'C'mon, honey,' Dada said, 'The line's moving. We have to move with it.' Al finally moved, revealing what had happened. Al's bottom lip trembled, Dad sighing as he scooped him up. He started crying, Dada having trouble consoling Al while holding me. 'Ed, honey, can you get down?' I shook my head, hugging Dad tighter.

'No,' I mumbled. Dada shook his head and returned his attention on Al.

'Shh, it's okay,' Dad tried stiffly. 'Don't cry. It was an accident. It's okay.'

'I-I'm a b-bad boy!' Al wailed, people staring at us. The line moved again and it was our turn finally. Dad struggled into a stall and set me on the ground. He adjusted Al, trying to get him to calm down as I did my business.

'No, you aren't,' Dada comforted. 'It's okay, Al. Please don't cry.'

'Dada, I'm done,' I announced. Dad took my hand and we left the stall.

'Wash hands, Ed,' he instructed. I did so, watching him struggle to calm Al down out of the corner of my eye.

'Shush, baby,' he whispered. 'You're not bad. Please don't say that. It's alright.' I took Dada's hand, signaling that I was done. Al was inconsolable, crying loudly as we walked back to baggage. Vanessa spotted us and I knew she knew. She was going to twist it somehow so Al looked like he was bad.

'Everything okay?' Vanessa asked in that sweet voice I was really beginning to hate.

'Yes,' Dad answered, still trying to quiet Al down, 'Al just didn't quite make it. The line was pretty long.'

'I should have taken him,' Vanessa said with a sigh, walking away while dragging Dada's suitcase behind her. 'Women let women with small children cut.'

'Really?' Dad asked, following her.

'Oh, yes,' Vanessa confirmed. 'Didn't Trisha ever tell you that?' Dad chuckled.

'She might have when Ed was training,' Dad said. 'I can't remember, though. That was three years ago.'

'Daddy,' I interrupted, 'Is Al in trouble?' Dada blinked at me before smiling.

'Of course not,' he replied, still smiling.

'Promise?' I asked anxiously. Dad nodded at me. He picked me off the ground and kissed my cheek. His beard brushed up against my face and I giggled softly.

'I promise,' he replied. I sighed, guessing that Vanessa really couldn't mess with us when Dad was home. But I was wrong. She could, she just had to get creative as I would learn.

"We stopped to get food at a drive thru on the way home. Al had calmed down, humming in his car seat as we drove. Chico was there and helped him stop crying. All he wanted now was dry clothes and food. Those were treasures to us after the week we had. Vanessa never put us in clean clothes nor did she feed us. So now those really simple things were like prizes to us. And they would stay that way for seven years. We got home, Dad carrying Al inside. He went upstairs to help Al change leaving me and Vanessa alone. I stared anxiously at her, wondering what in the world she would do to me. All she did, though, was smile at me. We set the table, Vanessa smiling creepily at me as we worked. It made me sick to my stomach, my hands shaking as I worked. Finally, Dada and Al came back, Al chattering happily in his pajamas. Dad kissed his forehead and set him down in a chair. I sat next to Al, trying to focus on him instead of on Vanessa. The meal got started, Dad telling us all about Germany. After he got done telling us about the cuckoo clock he saw, Vanessa cleared her throat loudly.

"'Yes, hon?' Dada asked with a smile.

'We need to talk about the boys,' she said. 'I'm worried about them.'

'Why's that?' Dad asked, setting his fork down.

'It's just that they were so bad this week,' Vanessa said sadly. 'I had hoped that we'd bond this week but they were so awful that we couldn't. They just don't listen to me, Vic.'

'Now, boys,' Dada began, 'You have to listen to Vanessa when I'm gone, okay? When she tells you something, you need to listen. Can you do that?' We exchanged glances and nodded. Of course we could. Failure to do so resulted in punishment that was so severe that we'd probably never break another rule in our lives. Dad smiled and said, 'Good boys.'

'Something else you should know, Vic, is that Al didn't have a dry night the whole time you were gone,' Vanessa told him, Al playing with his food.

'Guess my leaving stressed him out,' Dada sighed. 'I've read that small children have potty issues when they're stressed. Sorry you had to deal with it alone, Nessa.'

'Well, it was a ton of laundry and Ed still wets the bed sometimes,' Vanessa went on. 'It was a lot of work.'

'I know,' Dada said. 'It can be. I don't know how to help them, though.'

'Perhaps we could diaper them at night until we figure something else out,' Vanessa suggested, sliding her eyes over at me. I sat stunned, the bubbles forming in my throat as she sneered at me.

'I don't know,' Dada said. 'Ed's a little old. He's six.'

'But it would cut down on laundry until we come up with a solution,' Vanessa pressed.

'Dada!' I cried, managing to speak around the bubbles. 'I'm sorry! Please don' do it! I'll stay dry, honest!'

'Edward, honey, that's beyond your control,' Dad replied. I swallowed nervously. How was this to her advantage? What did she gain? It wasn't until later that I realized that her goal was to humiliate us. If she couldn't scream at us or hit us or starve us when Dada was home, she would do her damn best to humiliate us so we'd remember she was in charge. 'But, I do think Ed's too old. He's dry most nights now so there's no need.'

'What about Al?' Vanessa asked.

'It might be a good idea, at least 'til we figure out if he's going to outgrow it or if something's wrong,' Dad said. Al shook his head, his lip trembling.

'No, Dada,' he begged. 'I can be good, really! I can be good!'

'It's not a punishment,' Dad began, even though we both knew it was. Vanessa was punishing us subtly until she could beat us again. 'It's just to help with laundry and keeping the bed dry. You're not in trouble, honey.'

'B-But I'm not a baby,' Al said miserably.

'No, you're not,' Dada agreed, 'But we all need help sometimes, honey.' Al blinked, a few tears rolling down his face. He pushed his plate away, his free arm wiping away his tears.

'Dad, it isn't fair,' I protested. 'Don't do this to Al!'

'I'm sorry, but we're going to try it for a while,' Dad said. His phone when off and he got up to take the call. I stared at Vanessa who started cackling loudly.

'Don't cry, baby Alphonse,' she mocked. 'Isn't wearing diapers better than me hitting you?'

'Leave him alone!' I cried. She stared at me and I swallowed.

'You really need to check your attitude, Edward,' she warned standing. She stalked over, her eyes burning.

'I'm sorry,' I said instantly, my heart beating wildly. She wouldn't hit me when Dada's home, right? Wrong. Her palm made contact with my hand and I fell out of my chair. My face hit the floor, warm blood oozing from my nose. Al was crying loudly now, hiding his face as Vanessa loomed over me.

'Worthless brats,' she sneered. 'That's all you are. That's all you'll ever be. What are you, Ed?' I teared up, knowing I had little choice but to say it.

'A bad boy,' I croaked, sitting up. My nose wouldn't stop bleeding. She smacked me again, Al wailing loudly at the table.

'What are you?'

'A bad boy.' Smack.

'What are you?'

'A bad boy.' Smack.

'Such a bad boy,' she tutted. I sat on the floor, blood staining my shirt collar. I knew then that not even Dada could protect me. No one could. But I could protect someone and that someone was Al. If Dada couldn't protect us from her, I could at least protect Al from her. 'Go stand in the corner, Ed, and don't come out until I tell you.' I nodded, wiping blood on my hand. The bleeding hadn't stopped but there wasn't anything I could do. She made me stand in the corner in the dining room and listen to her smack Al.

'Shut up, you little shit,' she hissed. Al stopped crying and I had failed to protect him. That would be the first time of many as the years went on. She liked to prevent me from protecting him whenever possible. Punishing me by forcing me to stand in the corner until my legs gave out was one way that Vanessa got away with hitting Al.

'What happened?' Dad asked as he reentered.

'Ed called me a bitch,' Vanessa lied. 'So he's in the corner.' I wanted nothing more than to cry out, to tell Dada that's not what happened. But I couldn't. I was too scared to. Instead I cried silently, Dad sighing in disappointment.

'Edward, go to your room,' he ordered sadly. 'No dinner.' My stomach growled but I had no choice. Dada didn't know that food was a prize. He didn't know that Vanessa liked to starve us. He didn't know anything. And if Vanessa had her way, it would stay that way forever. It almost did. I walked up to my room, my nose finally drying up. I closed the door and stood at the mirror like always.

'I'm bad,' I said. 'I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy.' I knew then that when I went up against Vanessa, chances were that I would lose. She had more power than I did – had more pull with Dada. Yeah, Dada loved us, but what good was that? It meant shit when it was all said and done. His love couldn't protect us from her. Tears rolled down my face as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Even though I was only six, I remember thinking just how much I hated myself. I hated myself because in one short week, Vanessa convinced me I was bad. I was worthless. I couldn't protect Al, no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to shut my eyes, but couldn't. Instead I stared at it, repeating how I was bad over and over until Dada put me to bed that night."

Like normal the group stares at me. I can't read their faces at all. Al's shaking beside me and I take his hand. We stare at each other for a long time, my watch still beeping. I finally turn it off, everyone's eyes burning a hole right through me. I actually think they want me to keep going. They want to hear about how she managed to torture us while Dada was at home. They want to hear about what happened the next time she watched us 'cause Dad was away. The thing is, though, I can't. I can't talk about it, not right now. That day, the day Dad came home from Germany, is the day I realized no one could help me. As a little kid I realized that no matter what I did or how good I was, she almost always one. I could be an angel and still get in trouble. I could do all I could to protect Al and he'd still get hit. I could listen to her every command and still get beaten. No matter what I did, I was trapped. There's this pressure on my chest, threatening to crush me as I sit there. I squeeze Al's hand, trying to calm down. But I can't. That day is almost worse than That Night in a lot of ways. That Night I thought that maybe there was a chance Dada could save me. But that day I learned there wasn't. Dad loved her too much; he was blinded by her. He couldn't see passed her lies and that almost killed Al and me. Almost.

"Did she hit you a lot when your dad was at home?"

My head shoots up, trying to locate who spoke. It was Lindsay, the girl who told the whole group her dad beat her little brother to death. I lick my lips, the bubbles preventing me from responding.

"No." To my great surprise, Al replies to her. "She knew she couldn't get away with it. She did smack us a lot, but that was about it. Never left marks when Dada was home."

"My dad was the same way when Mom was home," Lindsay says. I stare at this girl, in awe of how eerily similar our stories are.

"Did your dad ever marry her?" Someone else asks. I can't speak still and I'm still shocked when Al nods.

"Mmm, yeah," Al says. "That summer they got married." It's then that Al nervously shakes his head, his tongue rolling over his lips. "I don't wanna talk about this anymore." I can tell the kids have more questions for us. They're itching to know anything and everything about our story. They don't want to wait until next week to hear more. They want to hear it all now. But like Al, I can't. I don't wanna talk about it anymore. I thought that maybe as I talked about the abuse it would get easier. I was wrong. Things like that never get any easier I guess. No matter how much I talk about it, how much I face it, it's still hard to talk about. It still stalks me at night, still haunts my every waking moment. No matter what I do, it's there. It'll always be there. So they don't get the rest of the story today. Hell, the way I'm feeling they'll be lucky if they get more of it next week.

Like last week, my talking warmed everyone else up. Kids who have never said anything are opening up about the shit they've had to go through. They aren't big on details like me but from what they say I get a pretty good idea of what they've been through. Domestic violence. Rape. Abuse. Abuse. Sex stuff. Domestic violence. In the last fifteen minutes or so, some kid who's never said anything in group starts talking. He starts by saying he's glad I found the courage to speak. My courage gave him some or some shit like that. I don't know. Anyway, he talks about the abuse he went through and it's like Lindsay. It's super similar to our story. Parts of it, anyway. I can tell Al's getting twitchy and I'm scared he's gonna freak out. Like puke and have a panic attack freak out. The more this kid talks, the more anxious my little brother gets. I squeeze his hand, but that only seems to make him more anxious. He's probably forgotten where he is. He stands suddenly, my worst fears realized. Everyone stares as he trembles violently and I stand too.

"C'mon, Al," I say softly, "Sit down. It's okay." Maybe he doesn't hear me. Maybe he chooses not to listen. Or maybe, like I think, he's been pulled far away from here. He's been pulled back to that day or maybe some other day where she hit him and screamed how he was bad over and over again. He's been pulled back to a time where he's a scared little kid, hiding in the corner as she beat me. If that's the case, he's gonna throw up or pee and then start wheezing. His chest is going to threaten to crush him as every eye becomes hers. I know because I've been there.

"You alright, Al?" Dr. Hughes asks. Al swallows and shakes his head. He hurries out of the room, everyone watching him go. They all stare at me and I glare at them. It's like they expect an explanation. They like my stories so much that they want me to make up one about why Al ran away. I'm not gonna do that.

"I'll go find him," I say. "Don't wait up." I leave the room, remembering at the last minute to grab Al's backpack and Chico. Chico's been making more and more appearances lately. It's 'cause something's going on at school, something Al hasn't told anyone about. Even me.

I'm worried about him. Last year when I was in my low place, I didn't tell anyone anything. Even Al. I kept it locked up inside me where no one could see it. And while I came close, I never did attempt suicide. But I was really close. I'm scared because what if Al's in that place now? What if he's in that low place and whatever's going on at school's that last push he needs to attempt killing himself? I shake my head as I walk through the hall. Al would never do that. He's not a quitter. He's not. But neither am I. And I almost quit. I almost threw in the towel. I convinced myself that I was worthless; that I was never going to get better and I should just die. I was a waste of space. I didn't matter. But then I remembered that I matter most to one person. There's this little kid named Alphonse who thinks the world of me. And that kept me going. Al matters most to me, too. And hopefully that will keep him here. Hopefully. I sigh, listening for signs of distress coming from somewhere. I can't hear my baby brother so I decide to try talking.

"Ally," I call, "Al, it's Brother. Where are you?" I hear a whimper coming from a closet nearby. I walk over and press my hand on the door. "Hey," I say, "You okay?"

"N-No," Al answers shakily.

"Walk me through it," I tell him. Al stays silent and I rest my forehead against the door. "C'mon Ally. Don't shut me out. Tell me what's bothering you."

"I, uh," Al begins, his voice getting lost. I wait and can hear him puking on the other side of the door. I sigh, Al struggling to breathe.

"Al," I say, words beginning to spill out of me, "I care about you. You're the person who matters the most to me. Please don't keep things bottled up inside. Talk to me."

"I wanna go home," he says pathetically.

"You don't have to do this all by yourself," I tell him. We're having two conversations, I think. He's freaking out and so am I. We're just expressing it differently. "Let me help you."

"I wanna go home," he repeats. I can hear the tears in his voice as I says, "I want Dada."

"Al, please," I beg, "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

"The stories," he begins, "The stories…. All I can think about is ours. All I can think about is her. We were bad, Ed! We told them! We weren't supposed to! She's gonna find out!"

"She can't find out," I tell him. "She's in jail, remember? We're safe, it's okay." Al stars wailing loudly and says something I haven't heard him say in a long time.

"I'm a bad boy." My heart freezes up, unable to beat for what feels like a minute or two.

"No," I say, licking my lips. "No. It's not true. You're not bad. You're good. It's not true. Don't say that." Al stays quiet and I stand. I open the closet door, overwhelmed with the smell of puke. I walk in and sit down, Al crying silently. "The stories are heard to hear," I say, "But I think that's why we have to say them. It's hard to carry it around on your own. You need other people to hear so they can carry it with you."

"Is that why we tell stories?" Al asks hoarsely, trying to wipe his face. "Do we tell them so people carry little pieces of us with them? So they can carry the burdens we can't on our own?"

"Partially, yeah," I reply. "I think it's definitely part of it."

"I can remember a lot of the stories you told when you were little," Al tells me softly. "Sometimes when I'm scared and my brain's actually working, I think about the stories and it's like you're there with me." I grin weakly. Al swallows and says, "I'm sorry I ran off. I just couldn't handle it anymore."

"It's okay," I tell him. "It was getting hard for me too."

"I am glad that the kids are talking," Al says. "But I can't carry their stories for them. I can barely carry my own."

"That's okay," I say. "You don't have to carry their shit around with you. But now you don't have to carry yours alone."

"I never did," Al says. "You always carried it with me, Brother. Maybe you carried it too much."

"Nah," I say. "We carry it equally, promise."

"Ed?" Al asks, his voice barely audible, "You don't think I'm bad?" I shake my head.

"No," I answer. "I never did." Al's lip trembles and he wraps his arms around me. I do what I can to comfort him, cursing her as he cries. It's her fault. We think we're bad, and worthless, and fuck ups because of her. I hated myself for the longest time because of her. I'm only just now beginning to like even the smallest part of me. But I'm a human disaster. Al is too. And it's all her fault.


	11. Bad Thoughts, Bad Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had a pancake day :(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning - there's mention of bullying in this chapter as well as descriptions of the aftermath of a physical beating. Just letting you know! Enjoy!

Pancake day. Again. Friday. Again. It's always the same IHOP. Always the same table. That sort of consistency probably makes people cringe. "Do something spontaneous!" No. "Be a little crazy sometimes!" No thanks. "Break the mold!" Yeah, no. Doing the same things is my sanctuary. It's safe. For years I was forced to follow a schedule. It was crazy and demanding, sure, but my brain works that way now. If I'm not following some kind of schedule, I lose my mind. Al's the same way. It's so ingrained in us that going to IHOP and not getting the same table is terrifying. We like our table. We like our pancakes and we like our IHOP. We're not going to change that. There is a part of me, though, that wishes I was brave enough to do something wild. Like go to one of Ling's parties or maybe even skip school. But I'm not brave. I'm not even brave enough to suggest not going to IHOP. There's no way I would ever go to one of Ling's parties. But then again, I've said that I would never get better enough to do something and I wind up doing it. So maybe someday, I will. Maybe someday I'll go to a party and get wasted. Who knows? I know I don't.

Like most days my morning classes drag. Even though it's only been two hours, I feel like I've been in school for a thousand years. The bell rings and I sigh. English is over after what felt like a life time. Me and Winry have English together so we walk to our next class together. We have history next hour. She asks me if I have anything planned over the weekend and I say no. So she asks if she can come over. The weather's supposed to be nice so we'll probably end up on the trampoline again. Not that I mind. I love the trampoline. We walk toward the stair case, a group of kids congregated by it. I groan. I hate how high schoolers move in herds. Like, can't you be away from your friends for five seconds? Lord. Winry rolls her eyes and we keep walking toward them. It's then I see that it's a group of seniors preying on some poor freshman. I don't get why they do that. I really don't. I shake my head and keep walking, my eyes naturally drawn to them. My eyes slowly widen and I stop moving. Winry walks a couple steps ahead before realizing I'm not moving anymore. She walks back to me, her brow furrowed.

"What is it?" She asks worriedly. My brow lowers angrily over my eyes. I point a shaky finger at the group of kids, my chest heaving.

"Al's the poor freshman," I say. Winry's brow furrows and she quickly glances over at the group of seniors. She blinks and gasps, turning her head back toward me. Their jeers and taunts ring in my ears like church bells.

"What should we do?" She asks, clearly getting angry.

"I don't know what we should do," I say, my chest heaving, "But I know what I'm going to do." I stomp forward and Winry grabs my arm. I look at her and demand, "What the hell?!"

"You can't," she says. "You'd get in so much trouble."

"You think I care about that?!" I yell. "The only thing I care about is beating the shit out of the people tormenting my baby brother!"

"I wanna hit them too, but we can't," Winry hisses, a few eyes staring at me. "I've got an idea." I blink, wondering what in the world she could be thinking. She pulls on my arm, tearing me away. It's then I hear it. Smack. My blood runs cold, fear washing over me like a title wave.

"They're…." I struggle, "They're hitting him." And soon, they'll hit me. Just like her.

"Ed," Winry says sadly. "C'mon. I can get them to stop." I nod, swallowing my fear and allowing the bubbles to close my throat. Winry hurries to a bathroom and drags me inside.

"Win, this is the girls' bathroom," I say.

"Be quiet," she instructs. I watch as she digs through her backpack, clearly looking for something. She smirks pulling out whatever she was looking for.

"A pack of balloons?" I question. Winry uses her teeth to rip them open and throws a few at me. I look at them and say, "Why do you have these?"

"Does it matter?" Winry asks, "Fill 'em up, hurry." Good point. I guess it doesn't matter. I nod, hurrying to a sink and filling them up. Once we have half the bag filled, she carefully puts them in her bag and we hurry out. There are some teachers inching toward the group of seniors, but they aren't doing anything. The seniors built a blockade, preventing anyone from seeing or even really hearing what they're doing.

"Grab a balloon," she whispers. I take one out, the balloon sloshing around in my hands. I smirk, finally understanding just what it is she wants to do. I let out a cry and throw it, the balloon exploding on one of the kid's back. He roars and turns toward me, his brow pointed angrily.

"It's Elric!" He cries as Winry throws a balloon. It hits someone else, the blockade finally breaking up. I throw another one, teachers hurrying over to break it up.

"You get away from him!" I yell, throwing another one. "Stay the hell away from him!" Winry throws one, a teacher grabbing her arm.

"Miss Rockbell!" She scolds, a different teacher preventing me from throwing one.

"Let me go!" I cry, the blockade completely dissolving. "I need to get to Al!"

"You need to go to the office," the teacher replies. I turn and see it's that douche bag Mr. Murdoch. I struggle, Winry staring as I fight to get over to my brother.

"Those kids just wailed on my brother!" I yell, "Let go of me!" Without thinking about it I kick his shin, Mr. Murdoch crying out in pain. He releases me and I hurry over. Al's slumped against the lockers, his puffy eyes shut. Already there's visible bruising around his eyes, his nose a fountain of blood. Blood has soaked his shirt collar and I'm sure they didn't just hit his face. I look at his arms, seeing that one of them is really swollen and bruised already. It's just like when she used to beat him. I wonder why they were beating up on him. I shake my head; that can wait. Right now Al needs me. I'll get answers another time. I crouch down, Al passed out, and take his hand.

"Al!" I cry. His face twitches and his eyes open. He gasps loudly, trying to get away before he cries out in pain. Al stares at me and I can tell he's not sure where he is as he scoots away from me.

"Please, stop," he begs, like he doesn't know it's me.

"Al, it's me," I say. Al's breathing catches and he stares at me. He blinks, a few tears rolling down his face. The hallway's completely empty, save a few teachers and Winry. They all watch as Al lies down, his head resting in my lap. He starts bawling loudly and I pet his hair, preforming the ritual I've been doing since we were little kids. Every time she'd beat him, I'd hold him like this after so he'd feel safe. It's no different now except it was a bunch of fucking high school kids who did this. I have a feeling they've been tormenting him all year. That's why he's so full of anxiety.

"It's over now," I coo. "I've got you. You're safe." Al keeps crying, Winry suddenly standing beside me. She kneels down and touches my shoulder.

"Murdoch's pissed," she whispers. "Called the resource officer."

"Whatever," I say. Can't really bring myself to care about that right now. I continue petting Al's matted hair, pulling my hand away when I feel it's wet. My eyes widen, Winry gasping lightly. There's blood on my hand. I search his hair, finally finding a small oozing cut. "I need to stop the bleeding," I say.

"Here," Winry says, handing me her jacket. I don't think twice about it; I press up it against Al's head. Al cries out, flinching violently as I press the jacket to the wound.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, "But I need to stop the bleeding." Al hisses in pain, his tears soaking my pants as I try to get the bleeding stopped.

"Edward Elric." Winry stands and I glance up. The resource officer is standing in front of me, her arms crossed. Mr. Murdoch's standing there too, his eyes softening when he sees what's happening.

"Hold on," Winry says, "You don't understand! Ed didn't mean to do anything wrong!" The resource officer shakes her head.

"You need to come with me," she instructs harshly.

"No," I say. I press the jacket harder, Al crying out in pain. "I'm sorry," I say softly. "I'm sorry."

"Now," the officer warns.

"I said no!" I snap loudly. "Can't you see that he's hurt?! I'm not going anywhere! I'm not leaving his side! Got it?!" The officer's face twists into angrily and I know I'm in trouble. I pull Al closer to me, my trembling hands unable to keep the jacket pressed against his head. She approaches me, twisting into her as she steps forward. "No," I whimper, the blood stained jacket falling to the floor, "No. S-Stay a-away." Al whimpers too, curling up like a coiled snake and latching on to me. I instinctively cower over him, my whole body shaking.

"Ed!" Winry cries, stepping forward.

"Stay back!" The officer warns.

"You stay back!" Winry argues. "Stay away from them!" Winry starts crying, tears rolling down her face. "You don't understand! Leave them alone!" The officer isn't listening, though. She's finally in front of me, my back against the lockers.

"You are in so much trouble," she tells me. I shudder, a puddle forming underneath me as I shake violently.

"St-Stay away," I stutter, still pulling Al closer to me. Protect Al. That's all I can think about. Protect Al. The officer lungs at me and I scream. I burry my head into Al, crying loudly as the officer grabs my hair. "I'm sorry!" I cry. "I'm sorry!"

"Leave him alone!" Winry screams. "You've done enough!"

"I'm doing my job!" The officer yells back.

"No, you're not!" Winry argues. All this yelling and all I can hear is her voice screaming at me. Al's shuddering violently, whimpering as he tries to crawl up in my lap and disappear. I wish I'd disappear, too. "Leave them alone! Please!"

"Enough." A new voice sounds in the hallway and the officer releases my hair. I fall back on the lockers, Al's blood and tears saturating my pants. I can't really breathe. My lungs are sealed shut and I'm shaking. I look up fearfully and see Ms. Hawkeye standing there.

"Ma'am," the officer says. "He attacked Mr. Murdoch."  
"That's not what happened," Ms. Hawkeye counters. She walks over to me and kneels down. I'm still crying, my heart beating wildly as I wait for her to smack me. "You okay, Ed?" I blink; not what I was expecting. But Ms. Hawkeye is like that. She never quite does what I expect.

"Th-These kids," I begin, "They hurt Al!"

"I know they did," she tells me gently. "I've taken care of it, don't worry. Al's safe now. It's alright." I shake my head, crying like a stubborn child.

"No!" I cry. "He's hurt!"

"I know he is," she tells me. "I've called your father. He's going to take Al to the doctor. It's alright now, Edward. You're both safe. No one is going to hurt you." I point at the resource officer.

"She grabbed me," I say. "She is going to hurt me!"

"No, she's not," Ms. Hawkeye assures me. She takes off her jacket and wraps it around me. It's almost like a hug. She then picks up Winry's bloody jacket and looks at me. "Where's he bleeding?" I can't speak so I guide her hand to the right spot. She presses it on to his head, Al crying out in pain. "I'm sorry, Alphonse," she says gently. "Your head just won't stop bleeding." Winry walks over and my cheeks get warm. I look away, Winry sitting down next to me.

"You okay?" She asks softly. I don't say anything. I don't do anything. I just sit there, Al resting on my lap. I'm so humiliated that she had to see me like that. I haven't been that scared in a long time. The officer's glaring at me and I quickly hide my face.

"I can't get the bleeding stopped," Ms. Hawkeye says. "Al, keep this on your head, okay? Let's go to my office." Al doesn't move right away. He stays where he is, his hand limply rising to press the jacket on his head.

"Al?" I ask worriedly. He slowly sits up, bags under his eyes. He winces, painfully standing and leaving me exposed to everyone. I wish they wouldn't look at me. I really wish they wouldn't. I pull Ms. Hawkeye's jacket around me tighter so no one can see what happened during my moment of panic. Winry offers me her hand and I take it. She helps me to my feet and Al immediately takes my hand.

"Officer Tate if you would be so kind as to join us," Ms. Hawkeye says. The officer nods and she glares at me her. Her glare makes my stomach tie itself in knots and my bladder lurch forward. Before I know it I'm puking all over myself. Delayed reaction I guess. I cough loudly, Al watching worriedly as I continue puking.

"Brother!" Al cries, "Are you okay?" I nod, wiping vomit off my mouth.

"Yeah," I wheeze. "Just anxious as hell." Al nods, squeezing my hand.

"Me too," he whispers. Ms. Hawkeye keeps walking like nothing happened. I'm glad she's doing that. I really don't want to draw any more attention to myself. I'm covered in pee and puke and blood and it's nasty. We make it to the office, Ms. Hawkeye leading us into hers and shutting the door. She sighs, collapsing in her chair. Guess it's been a stressful half an hour for her. Having to punish that group of seniors and then dealing with my break down couldn't have been any fun. I fumble with my shirt, anxiously waiting what's going to happen. They called the resource offer on me. I kicked a teacher. I screamed at an actual police officer. I don't know how I can escape getting yelled at and punished. I probably won't.

"Ed," Ms. Hawkeye begins softly, "Officer Tate says you attacked Mr. Murdoch. I don't think that's what happened, though. Can you tell me what did happen?" I like my lips, unsure if the bubbles will let me.

"I…." I trail off, not sure what I'm going to say if I can speak at all. "Well, I just wanted to help Al."

"But did you attach Mr. Murdoch?" She asks.

"No," I say, words starting to flow out of me. "Those jack weeds have been bullying him all year I think. I wanted nothing more than to swoop in and kick all their asses but Winry held me back. We were just trying to get them off him. I mean, look at him! Do you see what they did!?" I start crying again, words still pouring out of me. "I didn't mean to kick him, honest! He was holding me back, though! Al needed me! I have to keep him safe! And I failed. I failed." I wipe my face with my hands, the word vomit finally ending.

"I see," Ms. Hawkeye says. "Mr. Murdoch said the same thing. You're not the type to attack anyone, let alone a teacher." I nod.

"I wanna go home," I say pathetically.

"I know you do," Ms. Hawkeye replies, "But your father's not here yet."

"My head hurts," Al cuts in, his speech slurred. "Where's Dada?"

"How'd your head get injured, Alphonse?" Ms. Hawkeye asks.

"Mmm," Al hums. "I, uh, think they hit it. I don't remember."

"Can you tell me your address?" Ms. Hawkeye asks.

"Yeah," Al says, but he never actually recites our address.

"What's the date?" Ms. Hawkeye asks. Al smiles at her but never replies.

"He's got a concussion," Winry comments.

"Looks that way," Ms. Hawkeye sighs.

"May I ask something?" Officer Tate asks.

"Of course," Ms. Hawkeye replies.

"How are you planning on punishing this boy?" She demands, pointing at me. "He was insubordinate to a police officer." She stares at me and adds, "That usually ends in jail time." My eyes widen and I turn frantically to Ms. Hawkeye.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't mean to! I was having a panic attack!"

"I know, Ed," Ms. Hawkeye says, the jacket falling to the ground. Winry picks it up, pressing it on to Al's head. It's saturated with blood now. No one's been able to stop the bleeding.

"I'm sorry, Ally," she says softly, pressing it on to his head. He cries out loudly, trying to push her hand away. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "I'm sorry."

"Well?" Officer Tate asks, a note of irritation in her voice.

"I'm not doing anything," Ms. Hawkeye answered. "He and Winry, while it was wrong to throw water balloons in the hallway, were only trying to protect Alphonse. Since neither of them are trouble makers, I'm letting them off with a warning. As for Edward's insubordination, he was in a moment of panic and wasn't thinking clearly." I exhale in relief; that officer can't touch me with Ms. Hawkeye around. She doesn't look like it, but she's a tough lady. When Officer Mustang arrested her he talked about how Ms. Hawkeye was a social worker on the police force. Everyone was kinda scared of her 'cause she didn't take shit from anyone. She still doesn't take shit from anyone. I like that about her.

"What?" Officer Tate breathes. "You're excusing his behavior on a panic attack?"

"Not at all," Ms. Hawkeye says, leaning back in her seat. "I'm explaining it. See, Ed's an abuse survivor as is Al. Make sense?" Officer Tate's eyes widen.

"Are they the little blond kids everyone talks about in the station?" She asks. When everything went down a couple years ago, it was all over the news. An abuse story that big and drawn out is rare in our county so it made headlines. But Dada didn't want us exploited so our names were kept secret. But everyone knows. Everyone knows that two years ago two kids got rescued from their stepmom that abused them for seven years. Everyone knows that their dad had no idea and that nothing was ever done because the youngest was considered a liar. Everyone knows. But no one knows it's us. No one knows the full story.

"That's right," Ms. Hawkeye confirms. "Their father has requested that it stays under wraps." Officer Tate looks at me.

"Sorry I was rough with you, kid," she apologizes. "I didn't know." I shrug. There's a lot I want to say, but I'm not gonna. She is a police officer, after all. Telling her that I think she's a fucking moron who doesn't know when to back off doesn't really seem appropriate. Ms. Hawkeye's phone rings and I guess that's Dada. She okays him to come in and just seconds later his in the doorway. I leap out of my seat and hurry over. I wrap my limbs around him and Dada actually picks me up. He holds me close; so close I can hear his heart beat.

"Oh, Ed," he whispers, petting my hair. "Oh, my Edward. You're safe now. It's alright." We stay like that for a while mostly 'cause I'm unwilling to let go. I can't bring myself to. But I'm really too big to be held so I let go, Dada kissing my hair. "Where's Al?" Ms. Hawkeye gestures to the chair he's in. Dad walks over, gasping when he sees the blood staining Winry's clothes.

"He got beat up pretty good," Ms. Hawkeye explains.

"Oh, baby," he sighs, "Are you okay?" Al shakes his head, tears in his eyes. He flings himself on to Dad and cries loudly, his fingers clutching desperately on Dada's clothes.

"They're good to go," Ms. Hawkeye explains. "Al might have a concussion. His head got hit pretty good by something. Not sure what." Dada nods.

"We'll get it checked out," he replies. He puts an arm under Al's legs and picks him up. Al rests his head on Dada's chest, blood still trickling down his face. "Thank you, Riza." Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"It's not a problem," she replies. "See you boys Monday." I wave, unable to say much else. Dad signs us out and carries Al out to the car. He lays Al down, Al moaning in the back seat.

"Dada," he moans, "Dada, I don't feel good."

"What is it, Al?" Dad asks, staring the car.

"My tummy," he whines. "An' my head hurts." His speech is super weird sounding and it took him a full minute to answer the question.

"Ally's got a concussion," Dad sighs. He hands me a bag and says, "I brought you a change of clothes. Thought you might need it." I nod. My clothes are nasty.

"I'll change at the doctor," I say.

"Dada," Al says from the back, "Dada, I don't feel good."

"I know, I know," he replies. "Hang in there, Al."

"Dada, my head hurts," Al whimpers. "I wanna take a nap."

"Not now, baby," he says. "Stay awake, Al. Try your best to stay awake." Al moans again, lurching forward as his face pales.

"I think he's gonna barf," I say. And barf he does. Pancake breakfast all over him and the backseat of the car.

"Bad day for Al," Dad mumbles. I nod. Oh yeah. It's not just a bad day. It's the worst day. But at least I know what's been bothering him lately. At least I can protect him better now. Al's brave and he's strong and he knows how to fight but he's gentle. He's kind and doesn't always like to raise his voice or his fist. That's why he needs me. I'm not afraid. Well, I am, but when it comes to Al I forget how scared I am. And I can keep him safe – safer than anyone else can.

Al's got a concussion, two bruised ribs, and a sprained wrist. He's been sleeping funny since he got it and he barely eats because his stomach's always upset. Al sleeps a lot during the day and is awake at night. His head always hurts and he's dizzy a lot. When Winry came over Saturday, he slept the whole time. He slept through therapy on Friday and slept most of the day Sunday. Now it's Monday and he's not going to school. Light seems to irritate his eyes and he can't stay awake anyway. He's says he's going to try to go to therapy today and I hope he can. Friday was awkward being in Dr. Hughes' office alone. I've never had therapy by myself before and I hope I don't have to again. Besides, Al needs to talk about what happened on Friday. At least, I think he does. I know I do. But Friday I was too freaked out to say anything so my words stayed hidden. We get to IHOP, Al barely eating. His head hurts and he says that the pancakes taste like soap. So breakfast ends early and Dada drops me off at school. Officer Tate looks at me before quickly walking away so she doesn't have to face me. Guess she feels bad. I don't know. Luckily, what happened Friday stayed between Winry and a few teachers so no one else knows. I mean, they know that Al got beaten up but that's it. Most people aren't mean to him so they ask about him. I tell them he's okay and will hopefully come back to school soon. Mei seems really upset that he's gone and I tell her I don't think he'll volunteer tomorrow. She asks me if she can visit him and I tell her I have to ask my dad. The house isn't too clean right now. He may not want someone over.

At the end of the day Winry and I walk outside together. It's drizzling slightly, Winry sighing and sitting on the top of the steps. I sit next to her, waiting for Dada to come pick me up. Winry and I did a lot of hanging out this weekend. Since Al's been sleeping a lot, I've been lonely. So Winry hanging out with me was really nice. She's really nice. Winry sighs again, her face titled upward at the sky. I watch the rain fall on her face, blinking as I realize she's pretty. Like, really pretty. I blush, shifting awkwardly as the rain wets her skin, rolling slowly off her cheek. Oh, man. She's pretty. Winry turns to look at me, her gentle eyes smiling at me. I grin back, my heart beating funny. Not the way it beats when I'm anxious or scared. It's a new sort of funny. My stomach feels weird, too. I feel weird. But at the same time, I like it. I think. I don't know. This is all kinda new.

"Crappy day," she comments.

"I guess," I agree. "But rain's nice sometimes."

"How's Al?" Winry asks.

"Eh," I shrug. "Same as Saturday. Always tired, can't taste things right, light hurts his eyes, and he's got a constant headache."  
"So, miserable," Winry chuckles.

"Yeah," I say. I stare at her, noticing more and more just how pretty she is. Her eyes are so beautiful and…warm. They make me feel safe; like I can do anything. "Win?"  
"Yeah?"

"Thanks for hanging out with me," I say. "It means a lot."

"You dummy," she scoffs. Winry smiles and says, "You're my friend, chemistry freak. You're stuck with me." I grin, noticing Dada's car pull up. I stand and begin walking down the stairs.

"Dad's here," I say. "See you tomorrow." Winry waves at me and I wave back.

"Yeah," she replies. "See you tomorrow." We stare at each other for a moment before I wave again and keep walking. I'm not sure why I noticed that Winry's pretty. Has she always been pretty? I don't know. I open the car door and sit down, Dada smiling at me.

"How was school?" He asks, driving off.

"Fine," I reply dully. "How's Al?"

"Sleepy but he wanted to go to therapy so he's here," Dad says, gesturing toward the back seat with his head. Al's asleep, Chico tucked under his arm and drool running down the side of his face. "I think he has something he wants to talk about." I nod. I think so too. I have a few ideas as to what he wants to talk about. The biggest thing is the bullying. Hopefully he'll tell me how long it's been going on and Dr. Hughes can help him work through his feelings. I'm still worried that Al's in the low place I was in last year. If he is, maybe Dr. Hughes can help him out of that place so that suicide never enters his mind.

"I'm worried about him," I say. Dad slides his eyes over to me and I say, "I think he's in the low place." Dada sighs sadly.

"You do?" Dad asks softly. I nod. We don't say anything again for a while until Dada says, "Think he's considering killing himself? Think he's been hurting himself?" I shake my head.

"I don't know," I say. "He might be. I hope not."

"Well, if he is in the low place we need to keep an eye on him," Dad tells me. "He's been a little unpredictable lately with his behavior and his anxiety's been off the charts. We need to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't hurt himself."

"Dada," I say quietly, "I'm scared. What if Al kills himself?" Dad grips the wheel tighter, obviously uncomfortable with my choice in conversation.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," Dad replies. "You never had an attempt. Hopefully Al won't either."

"He thinks he's bad still, Dada," I tell him. "If he's hurting himself, it's 'cause he thinks he's bad."

"Dr. Hughes will help us, Ed," Dada assures me. "Al's not going anywhere."

"But he might," I argue worriedly. "I almost killed myself. You know that."

"But what kept you here?" Dada asks.

"Al," I say instantly. "You, Winry, and Granny."

"And you'll be the reason Al stays here," Dad tells me. "He may or may not attempt, but an attempt doesn't mean he'll die. If he does attempt, you'll the right there to help him after the dust settles." I swallow nervously. Sure; an attempt doesn't mean he'll die but it also means he could. And maybe Al won't attempt. Maybe he'll be like me and one day wake up and decide he's going to claw his way out of the low place. Maybe he'll decide that he's not worthless and stick around. Maybe he'll decide that I'm worth sticking around for.

We get to the office and Al's finally awake. He's in a daze, fumbling around and occasionally slurring a sentence together. He's kind of funny to watch, though I feel bad for feeling that way since he's so miserable. The waiting room gives him a headache and I really do feel bad. That conversation I had with Dad in the car is buzzing around in my head like a wasp nest. I can't help but worry about Al. I was in that low place. I know what he's going through. Being on his end isn't fun. I wish he would open up and talk with me about how he's feeling but at the same time, I know why he doesn't. Because I've been there. I know. Finally, Dr. Hughes calls us back. I take Al's hand and guide him back to Dr. Hughes' office. Al's really sluggish, his eyes glazed over. I have this sinking feeling that he won't be talking much. That means I'll have to. That means I'll have to tell Dr. Hughes how I'm scared Al's gonna kill himself. I don't know if I can handle it again. We sit down, Dr. Hughes staring at Al in confusion.

"Is he okay?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"He has a concussion," I explain, Al blinking slowly.

"I have a concussion," Al echoes, his brain working a little slower than normal.

"Right," Dr. Hughes says. "Your dad mentioned on Friday that Al was beaten up pretty bad."

"Yeah," I say. "I think Al wants to talk about it."

"Well, Al?" Dr. Hughes asks. "Anything you want to say?" Al blinks again before nodding slowly.

"I…. They pick on me," Al begins. "I'm small. They tease me." He shakes his head. I can tell he has more to say, but can't get his brain to work that way. It's too muddy. He's got so many words that are trapped because his brain is injured. "They're mean." He tugs at his hair, clearly frustrated.

"Don't push yourself," Dr. Hughes says softly. Al's sleeve slips down, my eyes falling on his wrist. My worst fears are realized, a few little scabs littering his skin.

"Al," I breathe, "Did you cut?" Dr. Hughes sits up in his seat and Al's face quivers. He nods and my heart stops. He's in the low place. He's there. And he's gonna kill himself. My baby brother's gonna commit suicide. And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

"I…. Sorry," Al says, a few tears rolling down his face. He wipes his eyes and says, "Only did it once. I was so… ashamed that I did. I'm sorry, Brother."

"Why?" I croak.

"I'm bad," he says simply. It's like something pierced my heart. I can't believe that everything Al's feeling can be summed up in two little words. But then again, those words have so much weight to us. For seven years she screamed it at us. She made us repeat it over and over until it became a part of who we are. So while it's shocking to hear, it's really not all that surprising.

"Why do you say that?" Dr. Hughes asks gently. Al shakes his head. He's having trouble answering questions and it's frustrating him. He just wants to say what's bothering him and can't.

"It's her fault," I spit. "She made us say that in a mirror over and over again for years. He thinks that because of her."

"Perhaps," Dr. Hughes muses. "Or maybe it's a combination of that and his guilt. He did mention that he thinks it's his fault the abuse started. Maybe the guilt is too much to bear anymore." Al nods, confirming everything Dr. Hughes said to be true. It's then I know I have to ask the hardest question I'll ever say.

"Do you want to kill yourself?" The room freezes, Dr. Hughes gentle eyes resting on Al. At first, Al doesn't respond. But slowly, his head bobs up and down.

"Yes."

My world slows to a stop. It's like everything's slow motion as Al stares at me, tears rolling down his face. He's in the bad place, the low place. The place that has him convinced that being dead is the only way to fix things. I know Al. He's not a coward. He's not a quitter. But the low place makes him think that he is. The bubbles are there but I force them to pop. I have something to say to my brother.

"You can't!" I explode, time catching up with me again. Al blinks and I say, "What about Dada? Or Granny? Or Winry? Or Mei? Or Picard? You can't abandon them! What about me, Al? What do you think that would do to me?!" Al lowers his face, trying to run from it. I know because I was there. "Al," I say, taking his hands in mine, "Al, listen to me. You're stronger than the low place. You don't have to quit. You're not bad and if you stick around, you'll see it." My lip quivers and I choke, "I love you, Al. Don't leave me." Al breaks down and wraps his arms around me. I start crying too, Al shaking in my arms. I know one thing for sure. Al's on suicide watch now. Until he decides that he truly wants to keep living, that he wants to move forward, Dada won't let him out of his sight and neither will I. My brother's not a quitter, but he is discouraged. He's sad. He's running out of steam. And everyone gets that way sometimes. But I won't let the low place take him away from me.

"Don't let go," Al whimpers, clinging to me tighter.

"I won't," I whisper seriously, "I promise." Dr. Hughes just watches us for a moment before slipping out of the room to talk to Dada. But we ignore him, clinging to each other; hoping that somehow if I hug Al tight enough, he won't want to kill himself anymore. That if I pet his hair, those feelings will disappear. But life isn't that kind to us. It never has been. Al's gonna have to claw his way out of the low place just like I did. And even though I know my brother's strong, I fear that this time he won't make it out alive.


	12. Overdose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed tells more of the story and things get scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Happy Friday! Here's your new chapter and I'll update Monday like always. Gotta tell ya, the semester's been hard and all I can think about is graduation. But I will update on the regular days until graduation and then after that updates will be sporadic but hopefully more often until I start my big kid job in June. Like always, I'll warn you about this chapter. There's descriptions of child abuse as Ed tells more of his story and there's suicide mentions as well as panic scenes. The whole chapter is like that so if it makes you uncomfortable, it's best to skip this one. Chapter thirteen will do a quick recap so no worries if you do end up skipping this one :) I think that's all the news I wanted to share so I'll quit rambling and let you read! See you next week! :D

Al's on suicide watch. Not like the hospital kind 'cause he hasn't actually threatened it or attempted it but on the Dad kind. Since Al's concussion is giving him problems, he's not going to school right now. So he's under Dada's complete and total supervision. Well, as complete as it can be. Yesterday Dad went to work and left Al home alone by himself. But when got home from work, he found weird things in our room like knives and pill bottles. So Today Al went to work with Dada. But it's not just going to work with Dad; no, one of us has an eye on him at all times. When he's napping someone sits with him. When he's working on the homework I bring home for him someone's right there. Even when he has to pee someone's there. He's never alone because we're terrified that if he is, he'll disappear. He seems kinda embarrassed by it all but I think he knows it's for his own good. But yeah, having your brother sit with you while you pee is definitely embarrassing. But after learning he had hurt himself and is feeling suicidal, Dada and I don't really care all that much about preserving Al's feelings. We can't lose him. We can't.

Even Al, though, seems terrified at the idea of killing himself. He told me. He's scared of doing it, scared of dying, and scared of leaving me here alone. But his brain is telling him it's his only option at the same time. He's at war with himself, unable to decide how he really feels about it. This whole situation is weird 'cause while he's in the low place I still feel like he's getting better. The last several weeks, while his anxiety has been off the charts, Al has done things I never thought I'd see him do again, at least 'til he was better. Like, he went inside a restaurant to eat. He volunteered at an animal shelter and is going to keep doing it. He leads conversations in therapy and I don't know. It's like he's getting better while still thinking about killing himself. Part of me knows that deep down, he doesn't want to. He just wants things to end. He wants to be better now and not be an anxious human disaster anymore. But he also knows that it doesn't work like that. No one can just snap their fingers and make pain or guilt go away. He knows you have to work for those things. But it's hard and it's draining and somedays you just feel like giving up. That's when the low place swoops in and convinces you that you'll never get better. That you'll be miserable for the rest of your life. That no one really cares, everyone hates you, everything's your fault, so hey – why not kill yourself? And even though Al knows killing himself won't really solve anything for anyone, he's been tricked into thinking that somehow, it will.

So today's group day. I wait outside school for Dada and Al, Winry beside me. I haven't told her about Al. I don't have the courage to. She'd totally freak out if I told her. Besides, Al's on suicide watch now. Dada and I are gonna keep him safe so nothing happens to him. But I know Winry and she'd freak if I told her. So unless Al actually attempts suicide, I'm not gonna tell her. The car pulls up and I wave good-bye to her. I get in the front, Al asleep in the back like Monday. I ask Dad how his day was and he says it was good. Al sat in his office all day and Dad tells me he thinks that spending some one-on-one time together will do Al some good. I hope so. Maybe Al just needs to spend more time with Dada to get out of the low place. I know I did. We get to the building and I gently shake Al awake. He yawns, fumbling around as I guide him inside. Chico's tucked under his arm and I know why. He's an anxious mess right now. With the whole suicide thing and the whole getting beaten up at school thing he's been a wreck lately. We get to the room, Dr. Hughes asking me how Al is. I tell him that Dada is keeping a close eye on him and Dr. Hughes tells me something I think is weird.

"I don't think your brother really wants to kill himself," Dr. Hughes whispers to me. I blink and he goes on, "I don't even know if he truly classifies as suicidal. I think he's more on the boarder, Ed. I don't think he's actually made the decision to end his life quite yet."  
"What are you talking about?" I ask.

"What I'm saying is your brother's tiptoeing," Dr. Hughes clarifies. "Maybe he does feel like death is the only way out but since he's not planning it or threatening it, I don't think he's seriously considering it – yet. But since Al's thinking that death is his only viable option, it's possible that even the smallest thing could be the push he needs to kill himself."

"You mean Al's not suicidal?" I question. "You mean he's not in the low place?"

"No, I think he's in the low place," Dr. Hughes tells me. "But wishing you were dead and actually thinking of killing yourself are two different things."

"But he said he wanted to kill himself on Monday," I point out.

"I don't think so," Dr. Hughes replies. My brow furrows and he says, "He's been confused lately because of the concussion. Maybe he heard 'Do you wish you were dead?' when we really asked 'Do you want to kill yourself?'. Either way, just keep doing what you're doing. Your dad's right for putting him on a suicide watch. We need to keep a close eye on him, especially if he's hurting himself. Keeping him safe should be our top priority."

"Oh," I breathe. I'm not sure if I believe him or not, but I have to admit it makes sense. Al had been getting better recently. But he's also been carrying around a lot of guilt that I didn't even know about. So yeah. Maybe he's in between. Maybe he's not low enough to really want to kill himself, but low enough to wish he was dead. I don't know. Al tugs on my shirt and I turn around.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Uh," Al says. He licks his lips, unable to get his brain to form a sentence.

"Does your head hurt?" Al nods and I say, "I brought your medicine. Hold on." I walk to the snack table, something I've never touched before. I pour Al some juice and walk back over. I hand it to him and Al takes his medicine.

"Mmm," he hums, sitting down. I sit too as Al says, "Thanks."

"No problem," I say.

Everyone else takes their seats, my heart thumping. It's almost time to tell more of my story. Even though I want to, I'm nervous. Things only get worse in my story. It doesn't get better until I'm thirteen. But I'm not gonna chicken out. I'm gonna be brave. I'm gonna remember why we tell stories. And I'm gonna tell mine. Like last week Dr. Hughes greets us and every eye is on me. It's like these kids can't function each week unless I tell my story. It's weird. I look at Al who's managing to stay awake and semi-functioning. He's got a goofy look on his face and I smile at him. No more hiding, I decide. It's time to tell my story again. I set my watch and face the rest of the group.

"Vanessa was really good at making us look like liars. Something would happen and she'd twist it to make it look like we did it on purpose. Or she'd just flat out lie about something we said or did to get us in trouble. I spent a lot of time in the corner when Dada was home as did Al. When Dad wasn't home, Vanessa hit us in places Dad wouldn't see. That is, she thought he wouldn't see. She forgot that Dada still sat in on all of Al's baths. So when strange bruises appeared on his body, he freaked out. Guess what? Vanessa blamed it on me. Said that I had been bullying him or that I got too rough with him when we were playing. Shit like that. I'd deny it, tell him that yeah – I played rough but I'd never intentionally hurt Al. He never believed me. He always believed her. And then I'd get hit for something I never did. Vanessa would 'spank' me which was really her just slapping me over and over for daring to stand up for myself.

"Things were hard for Al too, but in a different way. Since she couldn't hit him while Dada was home, she moved to emotionally torturing him. She yelled at him way more, called him names, and told him he was a worthless waste of space all the time. Since he was wearing diapers to bed now, she would wait until the last minute to change him. See, he didn't always have preschool. It was a three day a week sort of deal. Vanessa set her own hours at work so if she wanted to stay home all day and 'work', she could. On those days, Al had to sit in a diaper until Dad came home. She'd always lie and say that Al didn't want to change and he'd get in trouble. She was good at getting us in trouble. And soon we were bad kids. We got in trouble all the time. Winry would come over to play and get turned away by Vanessa because me and Al were 'bad'. When kids would have birthday parties and invite us, Vanessa would make us go to their house and explain to their parents that we were bad boys and bad boys don't go to birthday parties.

"I remember that as the days loomed closer to Dada's next trip, I thought about telling him. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him that Vanessa hit us and that she lied about us and that she made us stand in front of a mirror for hours, chanting that we were bad. Two days before Dad was supposed to leave, I decided I was going to tell him. Al didn't have preschool that day and I was sure Vanessa was going to make him miserable while I was at school. I promised him before I left that day that I would tell Dada the truth. That soon he'd know that Vanessa was the reason he never got changed in the morning. That Vanessa yelled at us and hit us. That she hated us. I wasn't going to chicken out. Not this time. No, this time I was going to tell him. I spent all day at school thinking about how I was going to tell him. I figured I could tell him before dinner. Maybe I could convince him to pick something up for dinner and I could tell him in the car. I also decided that I needed to be as honest as possible. That was the best way to do it. When I got home, Al greeted me at the door. He was miserable, unable to really walk. I got scared, thinking that she hurt his legs or something. I anxiously asked him if he was okay. With a little pestering, I discovered that Vanessa did hurt him, just not physically like I had feared.

"'She won't let me go potty,' he whimpered. It was then I smelled pee on him. I grabbed his hand and took him up to our room. When I was little, I didn't realize that Vanessa not changing Al meant that he couldn't go to the bathroom when he needed to 'cause he wasn't coordinated enough to get the diaper off himself. I always just figured he didn't take it off 'cause he was scared too, not 'cause he couldn't. But Al told me that day that it was both; he was scared of what Vanessa would to do him if he disobeyed her but he was also not big enough to take it off himself. Al's hand-eye coordination sucked for a really long time. It was so bad when he was little he couldn't dress or undress himself. That's why he couldn't do it. That's also why he had accidents more than I did when I was little.

'I'll help,' I told him. I wasn't going to let her lie to Dada about how Al wanted to wear diapers and have Dad lecture him. Not if I could do something about it. I knew I had to be fast, though, to avoid being caught. I picked out some clothes for Al but we weren't fast enough. I didn't even pull Al's shirt over his head before Vanessa came barging in. I stood in front of Al in a futile attempt to protect him should she decide to get rough.

'What are you two naughty children doing?' She demanded.

'You hafta let Al go potty!' I cried. 'It's not fair! I'm telling Dada!' I remember feeling so proud of myself in that brief moment. I thought I cornered her; finally beat her at her own game. That's why it hurt so bad when a smile spread across her face. Vanessa started laughing wildly, me and Al watching her fearfully.

'You stupid little shit!' She howled. She walked over and grabbed my shirt collar. 'Do you honestly think your father will believe you? You're a liar to him, Ed. He'll never believe anything you say.' My face quivered and I started crying. I realized then that I would never win. She was smarter than me. And she always would be. She threw me down, still laughing at us. 'You're both so incredibly stupid. You're a waste of Victor's time.' I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. I was still too stunned that I had lost. Telling on someone had so much weight in the kindergarten community. When a kid threatened to tell on you, it was like the end of the world. You'd do anything to avoid getting tattled on. But Vanessa worked differently. She had crafted this story that Al and I were misbehaved, that we were liars, so that Dad wouldn't believe us if we told him. No one would.

'I'm sorry, Al,' I said as Vanessa forced me on my feet. She dragged me to the mirror and moved to get Al. We stood there, repeating how we were bad over and over again.

"My legs started to hurt as I stood there. I knew Dada would be home soon so the punishment would end. Al whimpered, beginning to cry as he his legs began to ache from standing there. It had been a couple of hours and I knew that we wouldn't get to stop until Dada came home from work. I didn't dare try to comfort him as we stood in front of the mirror. Vanessa would find out somehow and hit us because I stopped saying my rehearsed lines for even a second. I did take his hand in mine, though, because I felt bad. I was too slow to help him. I couldn't stop her from punishing us. It felt like this whole thing was my fault. I shifted on my feet, knowing that if Dad didn't come home soon, I'd probably pee my pants. I didn't get to go before she forced me to stand in front of the mirror. I squirmed, my voice dying off as the need to go got stronger. I was scared, though, to ask for relief. I was also scared of just leaving my room and going to the bathroom. So instead I just stood there, my eyes filling with tears of shame as warm pee ran down my leg.

'I'm a bad boy,' I said, feeling the most defeated I had ever felt in my life. I was still feeling the burn of losing what I thought for sure was a battle I could win. Now Dada would keep thinking that we were bad, that we were liars, and that we were a waste of his time. I could hear the front door opening, my blood freezing. I could hear Vanessa lying some more downstairs and knew Dada was going to yell at us. I couldn't think of a lie, though, that was better than whatever Vanessa had told him. I wasn't very good at lying. I didn't like to do it because Mom always told me that I should always be honest. I could hear Dad approach our room and I couldn't stop crying. I was humiliated. I knew Al was too. Dada walked in, eyes widening when he saw it wasn't just Al he needed to yell at.

'Ed?' He questioned. I shook my head, tears running down my face.

'Sorry, Dada,' I cried, rubbing desperately at my eyes. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dada.' Dad's face softened and he walked over to me. I flinched, fearing that he was going to hurt me. Instead he just pulled me into a bear hug. I gripped tightly on his clothes, hoping that maybe if I hugged him long enough, he'd stay home and never leave again.

'I know why you boys are acting up,' Dad said. 'You don't want me to leave.' I nodded. Even though we weren't really acting up, I knew now that it was better to just go along with the narrative Vanessa had created. 'I heard you were in the corner, Ed. Did you have an accident in the corner?' I nodded again.

'Yeah,' I said. 'I'll be good, Dada, promise.' Dad smiled and kissed my forehead, Al fighting for his attention.

'Nessa never changed me,' Al said. Dada paused, confusion washing over his face. He looked Al over and frowned.

'I guess you are still in your jammies,' Dad commented. 'Why didn't she change you?' Al shrugged. He knew he shouldn't have said anything at all, but wanted to avoid getting yelled at by Dada. It was bad enough that he thought we were liars because of her. Him yelling at us stung worse than Vanessa yelling at us.

'Maybe she jus' forgot,' Al suggested softly, trying to avoid getting yelled at by Vanessa again. 'But I can' get it off by myself. I couldn' get if off to go potty. I'm sorry, Dada.'

'How about I change you?' Dada asked. Al nodded and Dad smiled at him. 'I'll teach you how to get it off so if Nessa forgets to change you in the morning you can do it all by yourself. How does that sound, Ally?' I remember a weak smile crawling across my face as Al nodded enthusiastically. Al wouldn't have to wear a diaper all day anymore once Dada taught him to take it off. He couldn't put them on his own so if Dad came home to him wearing one, he would know that Vanessa put one on him. She just lost. Sure, it was sort of a small battle, but it gave me some hope that she could be beaten.

"Dada helped Al change and I changed too. We went down stairs for dinner, Vanessa glaring at us. She was mad because she didn't hear us getting yelled at. She loved to hear us getting yelled at. Gave her life, I think. Anyway, we ate and I kept thinking about how Dada beat her. He didn't even know that he did. He beat her at her own game. Maybe that was the key. Maybe Dad was the one who could beat her. But how could he when he didn't know what was happening? I played with my food, imagining ways Dad could beat Vanessa once and for all. I imagined him as Superman, beating her up and carrying Al and me somewhere far away; somewhere safe. Some place where no one would hurt us – no one would dare. And that fantasy stayed with me until I was thirteen. I'd fantasize about Dad swooping in and saving me as Vanessa beat me. I'd imagine Dad barging in and being outraged when he saw her hurting us. He'd beat her up and take us far away. It's that little fantasy that kept me from hating Dad, I think.

"Soon Dada was gone again. He was in Italy and we were in hell. As I thought, she was extra mean to us. Despite all the lies she had told Dad, he still loved us. He didn't yell at us like she wanted him too. He still picked us up, still tickled us 'til our sides hurt, and still told stories. Dada's behavior hadn't changed and she blamed us. She blamed us for everything. That two-week period that Dad was gone she literally beat me one day because it was raining. Blamed me for the clouds. One day she beat me 'cause it snowed. She tried to take that one out on Al, but I wouldn't let her. One thing I found that I was really good at doing was getting in between Al and Vanessa. She seemed to enjoy beating me instead. Liked to see me try to stand up to her. She got some sick satisfaction out of beating me, Al crying loudly and trying to hide his face.

"I remember that trip, we got fed maybe once every couple days. I was so hungry that I would fantasize about food when I was at school. I would watch the kids eat their lunches, wishing I could be eating too. Winry would try to share, but I had to turn her down. I had to lie, tell her I had a lunch but that I wasn't hungry. If I shared with Winry, Winry would tell Granny who would probably tell Vanessa. It just didn't seem worth the beating. During that trip, Vanessa didn't bathe us once. I remember in the middle of the second week she sprayed us with the hose because we stunk so bad. The day after that marked the fourth day I had gone without food. I remember sitting in class, my stomach hurting so bad I wanted to cry. I was so hungry. I couldn't focus on what the teacher was saying because my stomach was begging for me to eat. So during recess, I told the teacher I had to pee. I did go to bathroom but after I snuck back into my classroom. I walked to the cubbies, my stomach screaming at me to eat. I remember that my heart was thumping wildly as I contemplated stealing food from my classmates. But me and Al hadn't eaten in four days. At that point, it was the longest we had gone without food and I was scared of what would happen if we didn't get something soon. So I did it. I opened up a lunch box and stole half a sandwich. I decided to save that for Al. He needed it more than me. I moved on to getting something for me. I opened the next lunch box and stole a bag of carrots. I stared greedily at my prize and didn't even hear the door open.

'Edward?' I froze, turning on my heel. My heart slowed and I tried to hide the carrots even though I knew it was too late. She walked over to me and her nose crinkled. I still smelled bad. I knew that. The hose did very little to get rid of the smell. 'What are you doing, buddy?'

'I, uh,' I struggled, trying to find a lie. But I couldn't. She sighed and held her hand out to me.

'Give me the carrots, Edward,' she instructed gently. My lip trembled and I nodded. I handed her my prize and tried not to make it obvious that I had half a sandwich in my pocket. She smiled at me and said, 'Good boy. Why did you take something that didn't belong to you?' I shrugged. I couldn't come up with an excuse. I figured all that was left for me to do was apologize.

'I'm sorry,' I said miserably.

'It's alright,' she assured me. 'I won't call home. Not this time. But if I catch you stealing food again, I'll call home.' I knew then that I could never steal food again.

"I made it home that day and had to wait all night before I could give Al his food. Vanessa looked through my backpack for food or notes home, but never thought to look in my pockets. I was grateful 'cause that meant Al would at least get something to eat. When it was bed time, I pulled the sandwich out of my pocket and handed it to Al. His brow furrowed at me as he held the plastic-wrapped sandwich in his tiny hands.

'Wha's wrong?' I whispered.

'Do you have somethin' too?' He asked. I shook my head.

'No, but I'm okay,' I lie. It was a poor lie, though, because Al shook his head at me,

'I hear your tummy talking,' he whispered, pulling out his pathetic excuse for a sandwich out of the bag. I watched as he tore it in half and handed me a piece of it.

'Al,' I said, 'No. You eat all of it.' He shook his head.

'No, Brother,' he replied, taking a bite. 'Your tummy needs food too.' I ate the sandwich in about two seconds, I think. We didn't eat again until Dada came home."

I stop talking, my watching going off. I shut it off and like always I can tell they wanna hear more. But I took up a whole thirty minutes and I'm not talking again. They like my story. I really don't know why. Al told me that it's probably because of the way I tell it. I tell it like I'm in a play or something. He said I make it interesting. People have always told me that I'm good at telling stories. So I guess it's really no surprise that everyone loves to hear it. But still – I wish someone else would tell a long drawn out story instead of it being me all the time. Like the last couple of weeks, more kids start talking about their horror stories. They talk about the things they keep locked up inside them, the things they've probably never told anyone before. I know because I did the same thing. When I started telling my story, it was the first time anyone had ever heard those things. I know how hard it is to face it instead of running away. But I also know how damn good it feels to finally get it off your chest. That feeling is more than enough to keep going in my book.

Dad has to grade so I'm on Al duty. We eat dinner together and Al seems really sleepy. I ask him if he wants to go to bed and he says yeah. So I follow him upstairs and do my homework at the desk in our room while Al tries to sleep. After a while, though, he complains that it's too light in the room and that he can't sleep. But I remind him that he's on suicide watch so I can't leave. He doesn't seem too thrilled but lets it drop. Al and I don't fight very often. We can't bring ourselves to yell at each other like siblings do. We suffered through so much yelling as kids. It just doesn't feel right. So Al decides to do more of his make-up work instead of sleeping. We talk sometimes, but it's mostly quiet. Al's having trouble talking anyway. His brain isn't letting him say complete thoughts or comprehend when someone says something. I can tell he's super frustrated and I constantly remind him that it'll get better soon. We do homework until it's bed time. I walk with Al to the bathroom so he can pee and he pauses.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"Can you…go?" Al asks, his cheeks flushed.

"Al, you know I can't," I tell him.

"I'm not…. I won' hurt myself," he says softly. I sigh.

"Look, Al, Dada told me to keep an eye on you all the time so I'm gonna," I say. "I can't lose you."

"I know," Al sighs. "It's just so…." Al trials off, lowering his eyes.

"Al…. Do you want to kill yourself?" I ask softly. He shrugs.

"I…. I don't…think so," he replies slowly. "I think…. Mostly I wish I was dead." I sigh in relief. Dr. Hughes was right. He's not suicidal at all. He's just in that place where he wishes he wasn't here. That's much easier to deal with.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me," I tell him. He gives me a weird look and I say, "That you're not suicidal. It sucks balls that you wish you were dead." Al grins weekly.

"Mmm," he says, unable to say much else.

"Tell ya what," I say, "I'll step out while you pee. Call when you're done." Al nods and I leave. I wait outside the door, sighing in relief when I hear the toilet flush.

"Brother," he calls. I walk back in and Al's brushing his teeth. I watch him, a weight off my chest. I had been so worried that Al was suicidal. I know that he could get that way on a moment's notice but I'm gonna try to prevent that from happening. I'm gonna protect him. I'm gonna keep him safe. And no one can keep me from doing my job; the only job I know how to do.

It's late when I wake up. My chest's heaving and the bed's soaked. Pretty sure I wet the bed. Great. I run a hand through my hair, realizing Al's not sleeping beside me. Chico's gone so I assume he's going pee. I sigh, swinging my leg over the edge of the bed. I sit there for a second, thinking about the dream I had. I don't really remember most of it. It wasn't a dream about something that happened to me I don't think. All I remember was it had to do with Al. It was scary but I can't remember why. I don't remember the dream at all. The door's cracked like always and Picard hurries in. He meows loudly at me and hops up on the bed. I reach to pet him but he dodges my hand. He meows again, a strange edge to his voice. I put my leg on, Picard hurrying to the door. He turns to me and meows again. I stand up and walk out, Picard guiding me to the bathroom. He scratches at the door and my brow furrows.

"What is it, Captain?" I ask. Picard meows again and I figure Al's in there. "Hey, Al?" I say, "Picard's really freaking out. Did you drop something?" Silence. I knock on the door and say, "Al?" Nothing. Picard meows again and my hand drifts to the door knob. I turn it and find it's unlocked. My heart is beating funny as I walk in. Picard darts inside and my eyes widen. If I hadn't of wet the bed, I would be peeing all over myself.

"Al!"

Al's on the floor, blood tricking out of his mouth. I hurry over and find a bottle of sleeping medicine next to him. I pick up the bottle and find it's empty. But he said he didn't want to kill himself! Why? Why? Why?! I take his wrist in my hand and for a few moments I can't find his pulse.

"Dada!" I scream. "Dada!" Finally, I find it. A faint little pulse, telling me he's still alive. "Al!" I cry, holding him close to me. He's breathing is shallow and he feels feverish. "C'mon, baby brother," I beg. "Stay with me. Stay with me! Please!"

"Ed, honey, why are you screaming?" I turn around, Dada's eyes widening. "Oh, my God."

"Help, Dada, please," I plead, tears running down my face. "Please!" Dad hurries away to grab his phone. Al moans, one of his teeth covered in blood. Must of hit his face on the toilet or something. But why? Why'd he do it? That's when I think something's off. Al wouldn't be concerned with Chico if he was going to kill himself, would he? He'd just leave Chico behind.  
Don't really need a stuffed cat if you're gonna kill yourself. And people leave a note when they kill themselves. He'd leave a note, right? I frown, remembering that he was having trouble sleeping tonight. I grab the bottle and frown. He's super confused right now because of the concussion. He might have accidently overdosed trying to get some sleep. Maybe. I won't know until Al wakes up. If he ever wakes up.

"Edward, I called an ambulance," Dada tells me, hurrying over. I hand him the empty pill bottle and he takes it, his hands trembling. "Is he breathing?"  
"B-Barely," I reply. "I'm sorry, Dada."

"It's not your fault, honey," he tells me. "You were asleep. Did he leave a note?" I shake my head.

"I think it was an accident," I explain. "I don't think he meant it. He told me earlier that he didn't want to kill himself and I believed him."

"I hope it was an accident," Dada sighs, taking Al's hand in his own. I swallow, tears still rolling down my face.

"What if he dies?" I ask miserably. Dada doesn't answer.

We get to the hospital a few minutes after the ambulance showed up at our house. I'm still in my damp pajamas and I'm holding Chico as the doctors pump Al's stomach. He hasn't woken up at all and I'm worried. Dada texted Granny but didn't give her many details. All he said was Al had an accident. I guess that Dad will tell her more when we learn if it was a suicide attempt or an accidental overdose. Once Al's stable, I change my clothes. Dada had me bring some since I refused to leave Al. The doctor tells us that Al's gonna be pretty sick for a while. He's still throwing up so he's on his side so he doesn't choke. He pukes so much as the night wares on that he starts puking up blood. Dad and I sit by his bed side, holding his hand. I tucked Chico under his arm and now I'm just watching him sleep. His blood pressure is low as is his heart rate. He might be asleep for a long time, if he ever wakes up again.

In the morning Dad brings me some food before he goes to work. I'm staying here with Al. I'm not going to school. I can't leave him. I spend the morning at his bedside, dozing off and on as he sleeps. He's been asleep for so long. But his vitals are climbing meaning that the medicine is leaving his system. He's gonna make it. Now it's just a matter of waking up. I remain by Al's bedside and lose track of time. Dad comes back and forces me to eat. I fall asleep. I wake up in my own bed and cry until Dad comes in to my room. I sleep with Dada until I wake up screaming. Dad calms me down and I fall asleep again. The sun rises and I'm awake. I'm in this fog, barely taking anything in. Before I realize it, I'm in the hospital again. Al's been asleep for over twenty-four hours. Winry's there. She holds my hand before she leaves. Dad stays for a while before leaving me and Al alone. He still has to work. I hold Al's hand and pray that soon, he'll wake up.

Al's been asleep for a week. He's finally stable, but he hasn't woken up at all. I've been to school a couple times in the last week but I don't stay long. I can't handle it. All I can think about when I'm there is Al. What if he wakes up and he's all alone? What if something happens and he gets worse? What if he needs me and I'm not there? So I mostly I float through my classes until Dada picks me up. I keep up with my homework, but if someone asked me what's going in my classes I couldn't tell them. It's Friday and it's barely noon. I'm pretty spaced, a notebook open in my lap. The TV's on but I'm not watching it. I just put it on for background noise. Al's puked a couple more times this morning but he's been quiet since then. I stare at him, wondering what in the world happened last week. I have to believe it was an accident. Al wouldn't lie to me. He's not a liar. If he says he didn't want to kill himself, I believe him. I have to. Al stirs, his eyebrows twitching. I sit up straight, waiting to see if this is another false alarm or if he's actually waking up. Al rolls over on his back and a moan escapes his lips. His eyes peel open and they're cloudy. His breathing hitches, but he's too weak to really move. I squeeze his hand and he turns his head toward me. I can tell he's scared and confused, but seeing me helps him to breathe normally again.

"Hey, Ally," I say softly.

"Wh-Where am I?" Al rasps, his voice weak and crunchy.

"In the hospital," I tell him. Al's brow furrows.

"Why?" He asks. He doesn't remember. I exhale. It had to have been an accident. Had to have been.

"You had an accident," I explain gently. "You were really tired and confused so you took a bunch of sleeping pills because no one was there to help you. You got sick, buddy." Al's face falls.

"I did that?" He asks.

"Yeah," I tell him, "But it's okay. You're gonna be okay." Al squirms and messes with his IVs. I gently get him to stop, Al still squirming. "What's wrong?" Al whimpers.

"I have to pee," he tells me. His fingers run up and down and he whines, "This itch."

"I'll call your nurse," I say. I press the nurse call button and wait. He continues messing with the wires and I say, "Don't do that, Al. Leave it alone."

"Hello?"

"Al's awake," I say into the receiver, "He has to pee."

"I'll be there a soon as I can," the nurse says, the call ending. Al struggles to sit up further and I push him back down. "Don't do that," I tell him gently. "You're really weak. Just wait for the nurse." I prop his bed up, Al's lip quivering pathetically.

"Brother," he says hoarsely, "I can't."

"Sure you can," I encourage.

"My head hurts," he whines. "I don't feel good."

"It'll be okay," I say, "You're okay." A knock sounds and a nurse walks in. She smiles at us.

"It's good to see you awake, Alphonse," she greets. Al's face quivers and she begins checking his vitals.

"I hafta pee," he says urgently.

"I'll take you to go potty in a minute," she explains. "I have to get these vitals down first, okay?" I guess the nurse doesn't realize how old he is. He does look ten. But I have a feeling that Al wasn't insulted by what she said. I actually think it probably helped calm him down.

"Did someone call my dad?" I ask.

"Yes," she answers. "They got his voice mail. We're trying again."  
"Okay," I say. The nurse finishes recording Al's vitals and smiles at him.

"Okay, Alphonse," she begins, "Think you can walk or do you want a chair?"

"I can walk," he replies. The nurse nods and helps him sit up. He helps him out of bed, Al's legs shaking violently. It would make sense his legs couldn't hold him right away. He's been in bed for over a week.

"Careful," I say worriedly. The nurse simply smiles at me.

"Not to worry," she says, "I won't hurt him." Al's lip trembles and he starts crying. "What's the matter?" The nurse asks. I hurry over, scared that he's in pain. Instead I can smell pee and realize what happened.

"Oh," I breathe. Al's slowly breaking down, the nurse finally realizing what happened.

"It's alright," she soothes, "Don't worry about it." I guess being a nurse she sees people pee themselves (or worse) more times a day than she can count. I'm just glad she's being nice about it. Nurses can be mean. She helps him sit down and promises to be right back. I walk over and take his hand.

"I w-wan' D-Dada," Al wails.

"Shh," I say, "It's okay. It's okay. You're okay." Al continues to cry so I grab Chico. I hand him the stuffed cat, Al's crying quieting almost instantly. Suddenly, I'm overcome with sadness. I almost lost Al. He almost died. I choke, Al staring at me as I start crying too.

"Brother?" He asks. I shake my head. Without speaking I crawl on to his lap and wrap my arms around him. I cry loudly into his shoulder, Al slowly returning the embrace. We sit like that for a few minutes the nurse returning. We refuse, though, to separate so she promises to come back later so Al can change. We desperately cling to one another, crying loudly. I almost lost the one person who I care about most. I almost lost my baby brother. He almost died. My worst fears were almost realized and I don't have the strength to let go of him.

"Don't let go," Al whimpers.

"I won't," I answer.

I don't let go for almost an hour.

Dada comes back during the afternoon. Al's napping now but the doctor said he could probably go home tomorrow. Since he's not suicidal he can go home. They give him medicine for his stomach and say that he's good to go home in the morning. I know what'll happen when Al wakes up. Dada will cry. Dad doesn't cry very often. He never has. The first time I ever saw him cry was after Mom died. He didn't cry again until she got arrested. Since then, Dad's cried maybe five times. The only ones I can remember, though, are when I told him I wanted to kill myself and a couple weeks ago when he broke down in the care. I'm sure he's cried other times but it's few and far between. Dad's just not that in tune with his feelings I guess. I'm not really sure. But he's gonna cry. Even though it wasn't a suicide attempt, we almost lost Al. He almost died. I was almost an only child. So he's gonna cry. He'll cry big fat tears and hold Al close to him. Al'll probably cry too. So will I. We'll all cry.

Dada holds Al's hand all afternoon. I work on make-up work Winry gave to me while Dad whispers softly to Al. Al hasn't woken up since this morning. I doubt he will wake up again for a few hours. He's tired. His concussion makes him tired and now being sick makes him tired. Dada's whispering, begging for Al to wake up. Dad misses him. Dad's worried about him. I sigh, unable to focus on the homework. I miss Al too. The last week has been awful and I miss him. I want him to wake up so I can talk to him. But I want him to get better so I'll let him sleep. I need to let him sleep if I want him to get better. A few minutes pass, Al moaning softly. Dad straightens his back, waiting to see if Al's gonna wake up. Sure enough, he stirs, moaning as his eyes open.

"Dada?"

Dad sighs loudly and pulls Al's arm closer. "Hey, baby," Dad says quietly, helping Al sit up. "You doing okay?" Al whimpers and shakes his head.

"I don't feel good," he says. He blinks a few times, tears beginning to run down his face. "I'm so sorry, Dada. I didn' mean to, promise! I just wanted to sleep! I'm sorry!" Dada pulls him into a hug, Al shaking violently.

"I know," he whispers. "I know, honey."

"I'm so sorry, Dada," Al cries, Dad doing his best to comfort him.

"Shh, it's okay," Dad coos in his ear. "It was an accident. You didn't mean too. But, baby, you scared me so much." Dad chokes and that's it. He's crying too. He's crying so hard because we almost lost Al. He could have died. If there were more pills in that bottle or if I hadn't found him when I did, Al wouldn't be here. He'd be in the ground.

"I wanna go home," Al cries, Dad holding him tighter.

"I know, I know," he whispers, his voice quiet with emotion. That's when I start crying. Big fat tears roll down my cheeks as I watch Dada comfort Al. He's so gentle. I set my stuff down and walk over. I wrap my arms around Dad and keep crying. Al's pretty much wailing now, unable to contain himself. And all I can think about his how he could have died.

"I was so scared," I cry, Dad patting my hand awkwardly since he's practically holding Al. "I thought you were gonna die!"

"I'm sorry," Al whimpers, his fingers clutching the folds of Dada's clothes tighter.

Dad kiss his forehead and adjusts how he's sitting. Soon we're both in Dad's arms, crying like we're little kids. But in that moment, we are. We're those little kids sitting in the police station, anxiously awaiting Dad's arrival. We're those little kids who just watched Officer Mustang drag her away and we're terrified that Dada will be mad. But he's not. He cries. He apologizes so much that he loses his voice. He holds us like he's holding us now; close enough that we can feel his heart beating. Al apologizes more and Dada just quiets him gently. He doesn't want Al to feel guilty. It was an accident. Al didn't mean to do anything bad. And Dad holds him close, trying desperately to convince Al of that. The thing is, though, I don't know if he can. Al's gonna blame himself for this, for worrying us, like he blames himself for everything. And it'll be a long time before he can forgive himself. It's a process. That's what Dr. Hughes always says. Every day we make choices and every day affects us differently than the last. Sometimes we move forward. Sometimes we don't. Sometimes we get better and sometimes we slip backward. It's all a part of the process. It's normal to stumble and fall. The problem is when we stay down. That's why Al and I try our best to keep moving. Even though I was scared that Al was going to die and even though he blames himself, we're going to keep moving. Al's not gonna kill himself, I realize as I cry into Dada's chest. He's not. It would go back on our declaration to move forward; to get better. So while the guilt will eat him alive for a while, he's going to move forward. We both have a good pair of legs. We're going to use them.


	13. When Dada Goes Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orgo = Organic Chemistry = HELL.

It's nine in the morning and Al's getting discharged. He's pretty psyched to go home. We all are. We've been in the hospital for days. I'm just glad that Al is finally awake. I've really missed him this last week. Yesterday, Winry, Ling, and Mei all came by to see Al. He was happy to see them, though I'm not sure what story they were told. I know that Winry was told there was an accident but I don't know what Dada told Ling and Mei. But they didn't seem nervous or anything so I doubt he told them anything weird or scary. I mean, it's not like Al attempted suicide or anything. It just sort of looks like he did. Dad probably just told them what he told Winry and Granny; that Al had an accident. Vague, but no one will ask questions. Probably. I figure that Dada will tell Granny the truth soon, but if anyone tells Winry is anyone's guess. I know I won't tell her. She was already freaked out and worried about him. She doesn't need to her that it was an accidental overdose that sent Al to the hospital. It would only make her worry about us more and I'd rather avoid that if I can. The discharge stuff is finally finished so Dad and I help Al out to the car. He can walk, but he's still kinda weak on his legs. We get to the car and Al lies down in the back. We haven't eaten yet so Dada asks if we're up for some breakfast. Al says he's not hungry so we just hit the drive thru. We get crappy MacDonald's breakfast and head home, Al asleep as soon as we pull out of the hospital parking lot.

When the weekend ended, Al really started to feel better. By Sunday night he was almost feeling like himself and said he was finally ready to go back to school. I'm happy he's going to school today because school's lonely without Al. Not that I was at school at that much last week, either, though. Even though I was physically present some days last week, I wasn't really there at all. Now I can finally give school my full attention. Well, the fullest attention I can give it at this point. It's Monday morning so it's pancake day. I can tell Al's nervous about going back to school, but pancake breakfast day is a good day to return on. It's familiar and it'll make him feel better about the whole thing. I know it makes me feel better, anyway. I put on my backpack and walk down stairs. Al's waiting for me, a weak smile on his face. I smile back and we talk with our eyes. He's scared and is starting to think he's not ready to go back to school. I tell him he's ready but if he wants to wait he can. It's entirely up to him. Dada and I aren't going to push him to do something he's not ready for.

We drive to our IHOP and Al has Chico on his lap. Dad doesn't say anything as we wait for our pancakes to arrive. Usually, Dad comments about Chico in public but lately he's loosened up. Al's anxiety has been crazy lately. Dad doesn't want to make Al feel like he's in trouble for carrying Chico around, nor does he want Al to feel like he's disappointed in him. I know Dada's super proud of Al. Al's been making good progress lately. He can't control what his anxiety does. If he could, he would. Believe me. We get our pancakes and Al actually eats his. Last time he couldn't because he thought they tasted weird. When we're done Dad pays and he drives us to school. Winry meets us at the front and hugs Al really tight. She was worried about him and is thrilled to see him up and at school again. We walk to class together and I stare at Winry almost the whole time. It's like my eyes are drawn to her face whenever I see her now. It's because she's pretty. I still can't decide if she's been pretty the whole time and I'm only just noticing or if she just got that way. Either way, I know she's pretty. I'll probably ask Al if he thinks Winry's pretty too. He probably won't answer, though. Al's clueless about stuff like that.

The final bell rings and I wait for Al by my locker. He comes walking up to me, Chico tucked under his arm. I ask him what's wrong and he tells me that school's too loud and crowded. His anxiety's on the fritz and his head hurts. I take his hand and guide him outside. Once we're outside I give him his medicine so he can start to feel better. Dad's running late so we sit outside and Winry ends up joining us. She sits down and I notice how her skirt falls on her legs. I blush and look up at the sky instead. Why was I looking there? She probably doesn't want me of all people to look there. I mean, we've been friends since we were in diapers. Hell, we bathed together when we were little. She doesn't want me looking at her that way, right? Right? I shake my head, Al and Winry talking. I guess Granny's late too.

"Where's Granny?" I blurt, interrupting their conversation. Winry shrugs.

"She's coming," she replies. "A customer was giving her a rough time."

"Oh," I say.

"Where's Dada?" Al asks. "He's really late. If he doesn't get here soon, we'll be late for therapy."

"He didn't mention working late," I say.

"Wanna call him?" Winry asks, handing me her phone. I nod and take it.

"Yeah, sure," I reply, standing. I ruffle Al's hair as I dial the phone and wait. And wait. And wait.

"Hello."

"Dada –"

"You've reached the voice mail of Victor von Hohenheim-Elric." I groan, realizing I got his voice mail. "I'm not available to take your call right now. Leave me a message and I'll –" I hang up, cutting Dad's voice mail off.

"What happened?" Al asks. "Did the call drop?"

"Nah," I reply. "Voice mail."

"Oh," Al breathes. "Try his office phone."

"Yeah, okay," I agree, dialing. I wait, impatiently tapping my foot on the concrete steps.

"Hello. You've reached the office of Dr. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. I am out of the office and unable to take your call." I groan again and hang up.

"Damn voice mail," I grumble.

"Today's not lab day, right?" Winry asks.

"Right," I confirm, handing her phone back to her and sitting down. "Tuesdays and Thursdays are lab days."

"Where is he?" Al asks nervously, his fingers gripping Chico tighter.

"Don't worry, Al," I say. "Dada's okay. He's probably just tied up."

"Granny can take you guys to the doctor," Winry offers, "But we probably can't bring you home."

"That's fine," I say. "Granny can call Dad and tell him where we are." I can see Granny's car and I stand. "Well, Al," I sigh, offering him my hand. He takes it and I pull him to his feet before saying, "Dada better get us something super good for dinner since we're gonna be late to therapy." Al grins weakly and nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Like Olive Garden or something."

"C'mon," I tease, "You can do better than the Garden."

"Uh, Shogun?" Al tries, laughing lightly. "Or Buffalo Wild Wings? Oh! Red Lobster! That's fancy."

"There we go," I say with a chuckle, getting in the back seat of Granny's car. Al slides in after me and Winry gets in the front.

"Can you take them to the doctor, Gran?" Winry asks as Granny drives away from school.

"Eh, sure," she replies. "It's therapy, right boys?"

"Yeah," I say. "Dada's late and won't pick up his phone."

"I'll text him to tell him where you are so he doesn't panic," Granny tells me.

"Thanks, Granny," Al and I say in unison. Winry turns around in her seat, a smirk on her face.

"What's with the look?" I question.

"Are you going to the shelter tomorrow?" Winry asks.

"Uh, yeah," Al replies. "I mean, if my head's not threatening to explode."

"You gonna pick up another cat?" She teases. Al shakes his head, chuckling.

"No promises," he answers.

"Captain's a good cat," I say. "He just doesn't like you, Winry." Winry sticks her tongue out at me.

"He just needs to warm up to her, Brother," Al tells me. He turns to Winry and says, "He'll like you soon, promise. I know it hurt your feelings that he avoided you."

"Oh, Al," Winry sighs. "He didn't hurt my feelings. Ed told me that Picard's had it rough recently. I know he's a nice cat."

"He is," Al says eagerly. I've noticed that Al really likes talk about Picard. It's like the cat is his kid or something. All I know is that cat's giving him a new reason to move forward. So Picard's great in my book. "He likes to sit next to you when you read and he always uses his box and he doesn't mooch food. He likes to be pet and held and only meows when he's had enough. He hardly bites or scratches. He only does that when he's scared."

"Sounds like you really like this cat, Al," Granny comments.

"Well, yeah," Al answers. "I understand him." Yeah. Al understands the cat. But the craziest thing is – Picard seems to understand Al, too. He knows when Al's in distress and knows to come get me. He sits on Al's lap when he's anxious and stays there until he calms down. It's strange because they've only known each other a couple weeks but looking at them you'd think Al's had this cat for years. But he hasn't. It's weird.

"Well, I'm glad that you guys adopted," Winry says. "Ling and Mei did all that hard work to keep the shelter open so people could adopt."

"I hope it actually stays open," I mumble.

"Why would you say that?" Winry asks.

"It's just nobody adopts animals around here," I explain. "Like, the way Mei put it is when they do adoption Saturdays, they bring like twenty or thirty animals to Petco and only five or ten get adopted. Then Monday there's a box of kittens on their door step. There's only a couple adoptions during the week, so no matter what they do they're always full."

"It's not good for the animals," Al adds softly. "A full shelter leads to lots of disease and injuries. They'll probably close in the next couple years if something doesn't change."

"Can't they just get a bigger building?" Winry asks. "Aren't Mei's parents behind it?"

"Not really," I scoff. "Her mom's terrible. Hates the shelter. Don't know about their dad. But the way it seems is he only helped keep it open to make Ling and Mei happy. I don't know."

"I guess their parents could always donate a bigger building," Al continues, "But the way her mom was talking the other day I don't see that happening anytime soon."

"Oh, geeze," Winry groans. "If the shelter ends up closed in the end what was the point?"

"I bet Ling and Mei will be asking that question if the shelter goes under," Al says.

"Hey, Al," I begin, "Maybe you could raise awareness for the shelter."

"What do you mean?" Al asks.

"Well, you know a lot about how disease affects overcrowded shelters," I explain, "Maybe the next time science club meets, you could tell them how bad the situation at the shelter really is." Instantly Al blushes.

"Oh, I don't know," Al replies, his voice cracking. "I'm not good at talking in front of people. Or in a group of people. Or to people. I'm barely a person, Ed."

"Yeah, but you could help," I insist. Al fumbles with his shirt, his eyes drifting toward the window.

"Maybe you could do it," Al mumbles.

"No," I tell him. He looks at me and I say, "The shelter's your thing, Al. If anyone can get people to start caring, it's you." He blinks, clearly not sure about what I said.

"It's true," Winry agrees, "You care so much about it. People will see how much you care and it'll get them to care eventually too."  
"I don't know," he says nervously. "What if I can't get people to care? Or what if I do and the shelter still closes in a few months?"

"Then you'll know you gave it your best shot," I tell him. "Al, sometimes succeeding isn't what's important. Sometimes the trying part is."

"Yeah," Winry says. "Ally, we can help you in any way you need us but the shelter's your baby. You and Mei can save it together."

"Guys, I can't," he protests weakly. "I want to, but I can't. I can't talk in front of people. I can only barf in front of people. I can't save anything when I'm throwing up."

"You think too little of yourself," Winry sighs sadly, turning to face forward. "You have what it takes, Al." Al looks at his lap, his lips twitching. I can't tell if he wants to say something or if he wants to cry. Maybe it's both. I've been trying to help Al be more independent. To take risks. To do something on his own. But every time I try, Al shoots me down. Maybe he's not ready to be independent. Maybe he's scared. But I'm not gonna let him turn his back on something he wants to do – something he thinks is important.

"I'll help you," I tell him. He looks over at me and I say, "But you take the lead. You tell me what to do or say and I'll do it."

"You mean it?" He asks.

"Hell, yeah," I reply. "It's important to you, right?" Al nods so I say, "Then it's important to me too, Ally. We're a team." I ball a fist and hold it out for him. Al grins and taps it with his own.

"Yeah," he says, "A team." Al and me, we're a team. We always have been. Ever since we were super little. And it's that comfort that keeps me going somedays. I know it's the same for Al, too. We love being part of a team. We have someone who has our back all time. Someone looking out for us. It's nice. There's no one else I would want on my team than Al. "Brother?" His voice sounds strained and my brow furrows.

"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly.

"I love you." Tears start running down his face and he tries desperately to rub them off. I watch him, unsure of why he's breaking down now. Winry turns back, her eyes widening when she realizes Al's crying. Her mouth opens and I give her the kill gesture. She glares at me and I try to tell her with my eyes that I'll take care of it. She doesn't really speak my eye language but she's pretty perceptive. Winry cross her arms, fuming, but keeps her mouth shut.

"I love you too," I finally say. Al trembles violently, unable to stop the tears from falling. I rub his back and say, "C'mon, don't cry. What's wrong?"

"I don't know," he answers. "But I can't stop crying now." I nod. That happens sometimes. Sometimes when we cry, even if it's for no reason, we can't stop. It happens to everyone. I'm not sure why sometimes the tears keep coming even though you want them to stop. My only guess is that maybe there's a reason you're crying and your head doesn't know why. But your heart – oh, your heart knows. Your heart and your mind know the same things, but they also know different things. So your heart knows when you need to cry, even if your mind isn't so sure. And Al's been through a lot lately. He's just got a lot of tears.

"It's okay," I say softly. "I love you too, Al. I love you."

"You boys okay?" Granny asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I answer. "Al just can't get the tears to stop." Granny nods and Winry stays silent. The ride is quiet the rest of the way to the building. Unlike Al's tears that don't seem to run out, everyone in the car runs out of words.

Granny drops us off at the front and assures me that she texted Dada. He'll pick us up when we're done. Al and I walk in, Al still drying his face. He's not really crying anymore, just kinda pathetically sniveling instead. We check in and I apologize for being late. The secretary says it's okay; Dr. Hughes is running late today too. Elicia's sick so he spent the morning scrambling with Gracia until Gracia cleared her schedule so she could stay home. So all his afternoon appointments are pushed back while the morning got canceled. Glad I'm not a morning appointment. I need my schedule to remain unchanged or I freak out. So therapy has to happen. Al and I sit down, some of the other kids migrating over to us. There's this one seven-year-old boy who really likes us. He mostly sits on one of our laps while the other kids fight for our attention. He likes Al the best 'cause Al's good at just being still. I need to move so I end up on the floor with the kids more than Al does. That little kid walks over and crawls right into Al's lap. Al smiles weakly and pats his head. The other kids all beg for me to play with them so I do. I get on the floor and play with them, their parents watching from the other side of the room.

"Ed, Al?" Dr. Hughes calls from the hallway. "You here, boys?"

"Yeah," I call back, standing. The kids all whine loudly and slump off to their parents to bug them. Al lifts that quiet little boy off his lap and waves at him.

"See you next week, Carter," Al says. Carter waves shyly at him before hurrying off to his mom. Al takes my hand and we walk over to Dr. Hughes. We greet him briefly before walking back to his office together. It's been a while since we've had therapy together. A couple weeks doesn't seem like that long to most people, but to me and Al it's almost a life time. We sit down and Dr. Hughes grabs his clip board before sitting too.

"So," he begins, "How was your weekend?"  
"Fine," I say. "Al got to go home so we spent the weekend together."

"What did you do?"

"Well," I begin, "Nothing special. Al was sick for all of Saturday but on Sunday we mostly watched Netflix and did puzzles. You know, stuff Al wanted to do."

"Sounds relaxing," Dr. Hughes comments. "How was school today?"

"Boring," I answer and I wonder why Al hasn't answered yet. Dr. Hughes must be wondering that too because he looks at Al.

"How about you, Al?" He asks. Al flinches like he wasn't expecting to be addressed and shrugs.

"It was fine, I guess," he replies, his voice really high pitched. "I don't know."

"It was your first day back in a while, right?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Uh, yeah," Al says nervously. "I haven't been to school since…." Al trails off, unwilling to finish his sentence. The day he got beaten up in a hallway is something that's been giving him nightmares. I hope he'll talk about it. I think he needs to.

"Anything you kids want to talk about?" Dr. Hughes asks us. I wait; wait for Al to speak up. Wait for Al to talk about things that are bothering him. But as the seconds tick by, he never opens his mouth. He squirms in his seat like he as to pee but never says anything. I sigh and shake my head.

"You sure?" Dr. Hughes presses. I nod, Al still dancing in his seat. "Well, how about we talk about what happened a couple Wednesdays ago? I'm sure that must have been scary for you." Again, I nod.

"Yeah," I begin. "I thought he was dead." Al whimpers and I can tell he doesn't want to talk about it. But I do. So now I'm debating on whether or not I'm going to keep going. Dr. Hughes, though, seems to catch on to Al's distress.

"Hey, you okay, buddy?" He's using that gentle voice; that voice that I know makes Al feel safe. Al shakes his head.

"No," he whimpers. "I want to go home."

"Do you feel okay?" I ask. Al shakes his head again, rubbing desperately at his eyes.

"I want Dada," he whines. "I don't feel good. I wanna go home."

"Dada's not here, Al," I remind him gently. "We have to stay here until therapy's over."

"Al," Dr. Hughes says softly, "You sure there's nothing you want to talk about?" He shudders and lowers his head.

"I didn' mean to," he whimpers. "I didn't."

"No one's blaming you," Dr. Hughes tells him. "But what happened was scary for everyone. You father and brother thought they lost you."

"We almost did," I interject. "If I had gotten there a second later, you could have stopped breathing or thrown up and choked on it."

"I'm sorry," Al says miserably, not looking at either of us. "I wouldn't do that on purpose. I wouldn't put Dada and Brother through something like that on purpose. I just wanted to sleep."

"But you almost died!" I explode. Suddenly, I'm angry. I'm furious. And I don't know why. "You could have gotten me or Dada to help you but you didn't! And you almost died! I almost lost you! How could you do that to me?!" Al blinks at me and I stand up. I grumble under my breath and start pacing.

"Brother," Al says softly. "It was an accident."

"Shut up!" I snap. "You didn't even think! You just…. Ugh! It was selfish, that's what it was! You didn't want to ask us for help to protect your pride! You were selfish and almost died because of it! Damn it, Al!" My chest's heaving as Al and Dr. Hughes stare at me. Al's lip quivers and he lowers his head.

"Do you blame me?" He asks softly.

"Hell, yeah, I blame you!" I yell. "You attempted suicide after you promised you wouldn't! You lied to me!"

"I didn't lie!" Al cries, tears running down his face. "It was an accident! My mind was all cloudy and I didn't think about getting you or Dada to help! You know that!"

"Do I?" I question harshly. "Little convenient that it's an accident, Al." Al stares at me, hurt washing over his face.

"I…." He struggles, "I-I didn't lie. I'm not a liar. I didn't lie. I didn't." Dr. Hughes turns to me, his gentle eyes calming me down.

"Ed, I want you to take some deep breaths with me," he instructs. I obey, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth with him. Slowly I calm down and guilt crashes over me like a title wave. I make it a point to not yell at Al. She yelled at him constantly for seven years. He can't take it anymore. I know he can't. And I broke a personal rule. I yelled at him, accused him of being a liar, and blamed him. I know it was an accident. I trust him. So why'd I say all that?

"Al," I say, licking my lips, "Al, I'm sorry." Al whimpers, hiding his face in Chico as I struggle to apologize. "I know you didn't mean to. I was just so scared and I guess it turned into being mad at you."

"Ed, do you blame yourself?" Dr. Hughes asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I say. "I do. 'Cause if I never found him, he'd be dead now."

"But you did find him," Dr. Hughes points out. "You found him and kept him safe. And he's alive because of it." I blink. I guess that's true. Al's not dead. He's sitting right in front of me and I exploded at him. I made him cry. All because I was mad at myself for…. Well, for not being omnipresent I guess. I nod at Dr. Hughes and walk over to Al.

"Ally," I say gently, "I'm sorry. I really am. I know you didn't mean to do it. I know it was an accident and I don't blame you. I shouldn't have said what I said." Al doesn't move. He continues to hide behind Chico and I reach out for him. I pull his head into my chest and cradle him there, trying desperately to communicate just how sorry I am. I feel awful. I shouldn't have said what I said. It wasn't Al's fault. It wasn't my fault, either. It was nobody's fault. It was an accident. "It's okay," I whisper to him, "I won't yell again, I promise." Finally, Al adjusts Chico and wraps his arm around me. He holds on to me tight and I pet his hair. We hug for a while before he pulls away and wipes his face.

"You okay?" I ask. Al nods.

"I'm okay," he tells me.

"Ed, do you feel better now that's off your chest?" Dr. Hughes asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I say. "I guess I had more feelings about it than I knew about."

"Brother has a lot of feelings," Al comments.

"I suppose that's true," Dr. Hughes chuckles. "Got anything you want to talk about, Al?" Al shrugs.

"Eh," he says. "I guess. That Friday a couple weeks ago was awful and I wasn't in a good state of mind to really talk about it last week."

"Okay," Dr. Hughes says. "Then talk. I'll listen."

"I just…. Well, I…. Do I have a target on my back?" Al asks. "It feels like people know that they can get away with things – that I won't do anything to them when they bully me. I don't know. Is there something wrong with me? Why do they pick on me? I know I'm small but I'm not annoying or anything, am I?"

"You're not annoying, Al," Dr. Hughes assures him. "And there's nothing wrong with you."

"Then why?" Al asks miserably. "Why do they mess with me?"

"There are many reasons that people bully others," Dr. Hughes begins. "A lot of times it's because they are having trouble at home or something like that and take it out on others. They also tend to pick on people they know won't stand up for themselves." Al's brow furrows before his eyes widen like he's realized the answer to all life's problems or something.

"I'm a doormat," Al breathes. "I…I let people walk all over me 'cause I won't say anything."

"You're not a doormat," Dr. Hughes tells him, "But you do have the tendency to stay quiet instead of standing up for yourself. These kids know that as long as they're careful, they won't get caught because you won't tell anyone. Al, how long have these kids been bullying you?" Al shrugs.

"I don't know," he admits. "These kids have been messing with me since the beginning of the school year. It's always someone. I just never realized why. I'm a coward."

"That's not true," I blurt. Al looks at me and I say, "You're braver than me in a lot of ways, Al. It's these kids that are cowards. They only pick on you 'cause they know they won't get caught. It's their fault, not yours."

"Ed's right," Dr. Hughes agrees. "You're brave, Al; braver than you give yourself credit for."

"Dr. Hughes, I don't stand up for myself 'cause I'm scared. How do I learn how to do that even when I'm scared? Usually I let Brother take care of me so I don't know how."

"Well, Al, it's all about making little changes that have a big impact," Dr. Hughes begins. "If you want to stand up for yourself, you have to train yourself to speak when you've been wronged. You have to speak out and not wait for someone to speak for you. You have the comfort of knowing that when you're incapable of doing so, your brother will. It's not about doing everything on your own. It's about doing somethings by yourself and knowing when to rely on others. Don't push Ed away; keep him close to you so he can be your advocate when you can't be your own." Al nods and turns to look at me.

"I'd never do that," Al says, "Not after everything he's done for me." I grin.

"Don't worry," I tell him. "I'm gonna help you learn to stand up for yourself. We'll do it as a team." Al nods, a smile spreading across his face. He extends a fist toward me and I tap mine against it.

"Best team there is," Al says, a smile on his face. I smile back, feeling better than I have in a long time.

The rest of the session went well. Al and I got a lot off our chests that had been building up for a while. Now I know that Al's been bullied all year and I feel like maybe I can do something about it. I know that he needs to stand up for himself but he's still my baby brother. I have to do what I can to protect him. We walk out to the waiting room and Dada's not there. Dr. Hughes calls a different kid into his office and we sit down. Dad's just late. That's all. We sit there, the kids all fighting for our attention. We play with them for a while before they get called back for therapy. I sigh and check my watch; it's almost five and there's no sign of Dad. I can tell Al's getting anxious when Carter appears from behind the wall. He smiles shyly at us before walking over to Al. He crawls into Al's lap, his mother watching us. She walks over, a smile on her face.

"Carter, sweetie, we need to go now," she says gently. Carter doesn't budge so his mother turns to me. "Where's your father, Ed?" I shrug.

"Beats me," I reply. "He didn't pick us up from school and I haven't seen him since this morning."

"Do you boys need a ride home?" She asks. I shake my head as Al shows Carter various toys on the ground.

"No," I answer. "We don't want to worry Dada."

"If you're sure," she says, standing. "Carter, c'mon. You'll see Al next week." Carter nods and stand up. He takes his mother's hand before waving at Al. Al waves back, a smile on his face.

"Bye, Carter," he says. Carter grins and his mother escorts him out. More and more people are beginning to leave and I know the office is going to close soon. Al glances over at me and asks, "Brother? Where's Dada?"

"Maybe a disaster happened at school today," I say, trying not to worry him. "Maybe a fume hood blew up." Al chuckles weakly.

"Yeah, maybe," he says. "Or maybe Dada forgot us."  
"Nah, he didn't," I say, standing. I stretch and say, "Dad probably just ran into some issues at work. Nothing to worry about, Ally." Al stands too.

"Can we wait outside for him?" Al asks. I can tell he's getting anxious about it so I nod.

"Sure," I reply. I take his hand and we walk outside. The sun's beginning to set and it's chilly. Al shivers, pulling his arms closer around his middle.

"C'mon, Dada," he whispers. "I wanna go home."

"I'm starving," I complain loudly. People are filing out of the office and my heart begins to beat kinda funny. What if Dada really did forget about us? What would happen? Neither of us have a cell phone. We can't call him or Granny to come get us and the office will be locked soon. I glance backward and sigh.

"We should call Dad," I say. Al nods and we walk back inside. I walk up to the secretary and ask, "Can I use your phone?" She nods and I dial Dad's office phone first. Like this afternoon, though, I get his voice mail. I leave a message and hang up. I move on to the cell phone only to get the voice mail again. So I leave another message and hand the receiver back to the secretary.

"Why won't he pick up?" Al asks worriedly. I shrug, glancing around at the empty waiting room.

"I don't know," I reply. Al goes pale and I take his hand again. "Don't worry," I tell him, "Dada will come." Al nods and we go outside again. There's a bench so we sit on it, waiting. A few minutes pass, the sun getting lower and lower as we wait for Dada to come get us.

"Boys?" I look up to see Dr. Hughes standing nearby.

"Hey," I greet.

"What are you still doing here?" He asks, puzzled.

"Dad hasn't come to get us yet," I explain.

"Doesn't he usually stay?" Dr. Hughes questions.

"Well, yeah, but Granny dropped us off today because Dada never showed," I tell him.

"Do you need a ride home?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Yeah, but what about Dad?" I answer. "We don't want to leave and not tell him."

"You can use my phone," Dr. Hughes offers. "You can call him on the way home so he knows you're both safe." I nod.

"Okay," I say, standing. "C'mon, Ally. Let's go home." Al nods.

"We should call Granny too," Al says. "Dada might have asked her to pick us up after she's done at the garage."

"Good plan," I tell him. "Don't want to worry Granny, either." Dr. Hughes walks us to his car and once we're inside he hands me his phone from the front seat. I don't want to sit in the front when Al's so freaked out. He's handling it well, but I can tell he's anxious. I dial Dada's number and get his voice mail for the third time today. I leave him a message explaining that Dr. Hughes drove us home and hang up. I then dial the garage's number and wait.

"Rockbell Automotive; how can I help you?"

"Hey, Granny? It's Ed."

"Oh, Ed," she says. "What's going on?"  
"Dada never came to pick us up," I explain.

"Oh, God, that man," she grumbles, "Do you need me to come get you?"  
"No," I say, "Dr. Hughes is taking us home now. I just didn't want you to worry."

"Well that makes one of you," Granny says gruffly. My brow furrows.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Hohenheim told me this morning he had a meeting with the chemistry department head and some research guys," Granny tells me. "He didn't even know what it was about. I managed to get a hold of him during lunch and he told me he had news. Didn't specify if it was good news or bad news, either. So since then I've been trying to get a hold of him and I've been worried sick about him because he won't answer his damn phone."

"D'you think he got offered a research grant?" I ask, anxiety rising up in me like puke.

"Maybe," Granny replies. "That might be where he is. He might be trying to decide if he wants to take it or not."  
"Oh, if he got offered a grant I know there's no chance in hell he doesn't want it," I tell her. "He probably can't decide if he should take it because…. Well, 'cause of me and…me and Al." I pause, guilt washing over me. Al and I are holding Dada back. Dad's a brilliant scientist who's well known in his field. He's published lots of papers and has done great research. But because of us, because of everything that's happened, Dada can't do what he loves to do. Because of me, he's stuck.

"Don't blame yourself, Ed," Granny says. "Your father loves you very much. He doesn't do research anymore not because you hold him back but because he loves you. You mean more to him than his career. Don't let him fool you, Ed – he loves people more than he loves his work. I mean that."

"Yeah," I reply, not convinced, "Okay."  
"Call me or have him call me when you see him," she instructs.

"I will," I assure her.

"Bye, Ed," she says.

"Yeah, bye," I reply, hanging up. I hand the phone back to Dr. Hughes and sigh.

"Brother?"

"What?"

"Is Dada going away again?" Al asks.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "It's been so long since he's done research. I think he's itching for some. I have this feeling that if he did get a grant, he's gonna take it. That's why he's not around today; can't face us."  
"I hope you're wrong," Al tells me sadly.

"Me too," I agree. I don't think Al and I can handle it if Dada went away. Actually, I know that I can't handle it if Dad went away. As mixed as my feelings might be I do know one thing; I need him. I still have this childish fantasy of him as Superman. He protects me. And if he goes away, I'll get hurt. We both will.

Dr. Hughes drops us off at home. Dada's car isn't there. Al and I walk inside and turn on the lights. Al walks upstairs to put his stuff in our room and I walk into the kitchen. There's a note on the fridge and I pick it up;

Boys,

Dinner's in the fridge. Just heat it up when you get home. Sorry I've been gone all day. Promise I'll explain tonight. If you don't see me before you go to bed, I'll explain at breakfast. Ed, make sure Al does his homework and I want you both in bed no later than eleven. I don't want you to worry, boys. Everything's fine. Promise I'll explain as soon as I see you. Love you both.

Dada

"Well, that was vague," I mutter, opening the fridge. The light turns on, revealing a bag of food from Red Lobster. That's fancy. I pull it out, my eyes staring at a bottle of wine in the fridge. For some reason, I kinda want some. I've never had alcohol before. I wonder what it tastes like. I pull it out and close the fridge. I preheat the oven and open the bottle. I sniff it and grimace. It doesn't smell that good. It smells like bread and grapes. Gross. But my curiosity's been peaked. I grab Al's cup from the cabinet and pour just a little of it in the glass. I raise it to my lips and sip it, gagging as it goes down.

"Ugh," I moan, "That was nasty."

"What was nasty?" Al asks, walking in. He's put his pajamas on already. I show him the wine bottle and his brow furrows.

"I was curious," I explain, putting the bottle back in the fridge. There's still some wine in the glass so I shove it at Al. He blinks at me and I say, "Try it if you want." Al takes the glass and smells it. His face turns sour and he lowers the cup.

"Ew," he says. "Does it taste better than it smells?"

"No," I laugh. "It tastes like someone liquefied bread and added artificial grape flavor and that sour stuff on Sour Patch Kids. Can't believe Dada likes this stuff." Al grins and drinks what's left in the cup. His body lurches forward and he starts coughing.

"Oh, God," he gags, "That's disgusting." I laugh at him and nod.

"Told you," I say. "But now we can say we tried it."  
"There has to be wine that tastes better than this," Al says, rising his cup. "Otherwise people wouldn't drink it."

"There probably is," I agree. "Maybe something citrus-y or maybe cherries. I don't know." Al walks to the fridge and gets the milk followed by the chocolate syrup.

"Want some, Brother?" He asks.

"You know I hate milk," I remind him. He shuts the fridge and grins.

"Yeah, but it's chocolate milk," Al says. He sets his cup down and inhales deeply. "Fish?"

"Yeah," I reply. I open the fridge, grab a soda, open it, and continue, "Dada's been home. Pisses me off that he has time to pick up dinner but can't answer his damn phone." Al mixes his milk and sighs.

"Is he mad at us?" Al asks. I take a drink and shrug.

"Beats me," I say. "Grab plates, Al. I'll get forks." Al nods and grabs plates from the cabinet. He sets three of them down and I frown at him. "We just need two. Dada's not eating with us. Won't be home 'til late." Al sighs and picks up the third plate.

"Oh," he says sadly. "Okay." He puts it back and I put forks and knives down on the table. I set my soda down and walk to the oven.

"Hey," I tell him as he slumps down in a chair, "At least we have those biscuits you love."

"Yeah," he replies. I can tell Dada's absence is bothering him. I just don't know what to say. So I open oven and pull the food out. Dad's got it labeled already. Crab for Al and a seafood bake for me. I walk it over for us and put it on the plates.

"Don't worry, okay," I say as Al picks up his fork. "We didn't do anything wrong. Why would Dad be mad at us?" Al shrugs, pushing crab legs around with his fork.

"I don't know," I says quietly. "We both have gotten detentions recently. Maybe he's mad about that. Or maybe he's mad because he's finally realized how rotten we are."

"Don't talk like that," I tell him. "We're not rotten, Al. We're not perfect but hey; we're not rotten either. I don't think Dad's mad at us."

"Then he's going away," Al concludes sadly. He pushes his plate away and says, "I was kinda hoping he was mad. Then he'd stick around. But he's probably leaving. Probably got offered to oversee some grad student's research for a couple weeks at some big university. Or a paper's getting recognized. He did publish again last year. Either way, he's leaving." I stab a scallop with my fork. I know he's right. I just really wish he wasn't.

"Yeah," I agree. "Guess he is going away. Where do you think he'll go?" Al shrugs and picks up a crab leg.

"You got me," Al says. "Maybe Germany. They really like him overthere."

"Boston," I say. "Harvard. You know, the big dog."

"Oxford," Al offers. "Dad's been there a couple times."

"Oh, Oxford's likely," I agree. "They love him there. Love his work." Al takes a bite so I do to.

"Brother, what was his paper on again?" Al asks after he's swallowed.

"Oh, something about improving the detection of antibodies in those columns they use in biochem," I say. "Shit; ELSA? Is that what that's called?"

"Hmm, yeah?" Al replies, "I think that's right." He shakes his head and says, "No – ELISA."

"Well it was on that," I say. "Enzymes were getting used really rapidly and Dada proposed a way to slow it down. Makes it easier for the reaction to move forward." I take a bite and continue, "I didn't read his whole paper. Biochem's still pretty muddy for me."

"It's 'cause it's got orgo," Al says with his mouth full. "Orgo's really hard and you haven't had it before. There's lots of orgo in biochem."

"That's true," I agree. "What homework do you have tonight."

"Math," Al answers. "I need to check if there's anything else. My memory's still kinda rocky."

"I bet," I say. "You hit your head hard, baby brother." Al chuckles.

"Guess I did," he agrees.

After diner Al and I do homework. We work for a while and when we're done we play the map game. When we were super little, we invented this game to play when Dad was going away. We'd start when he told us he was leaving. We'd pull out a map and point to countries and each of us would pick one place Dada was going. Whoever was closest to where he was really going won. But that was just round one. Round two was telling funny stories about what Dad was doing in the country he was in. Mom was our judge and a lot of times we tied 'cause she just couldn't pick between our stories. We quit playing when she came around. I mean, we did round one but that was all. She hated it when we told stories so the game sort of died a long time ago. But tonight, well, tonight we're bringing it back. We're gonna decide where Dada's going and tell stories while he's gone. Winry can judge. But like Mom she probably won't be able too. I pull out the map and we both decide where Dada's going. I pick Boston while Al picks England. I wonder who will win this time. Al stares at the map after we're done and I frown.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"We should pin where Dad's been," Al says. "Put the map on the wall and put pins in every place he's been to. That'd be neat, huh, Brother?" I grin ear to ear.

"Yeah!" I cry. "That would be awesome! Let's do it!" Al nods and we quickly tape the map to the wall. We hurry to Dada's office and pick up as many push pins as we can find. I also grab a Sharpie so we can write the year Dada visited on the top of the pin. We rack our brains, trying to remember everywhere Dad's been since Al was born. It's hard but we get most of them. Germany, Italy, Russia, China, India, the Philippines, Japan, a bunch of states, Canada, Brazil, Spain, England…. We step back from the map, dozens of push pins in it. Al grins and I shove him lightly.

"Love the way your brain works," I tell him. "Dada's awesome. Look how much of the world he's seen!"

"But look how much he hasn't," Al comments. Most of the middle east and Africa are empty as are many countries in Latin America and South America. "The world is so big, Brother. It's so big. And even though Dada's been places, there are ten times more places he hasn't seen yet." I nod.

"Yeah," I agree. "The world is big, Al." Dada's lucky. During those seven years of hell, he was traveling the world. He got to do what he loved and travel and maybe that's why I resent him a bit. While I was getting beaten everyday Dada got to see the world. It just isn't fair.

Bedtime gets closer and closer and Dada's not home yet. My heart sinks as I realize that I won't see Dad again until morning. Al's playing Pokémon next to me and while I have my DS, I haven't actually played. I can't stop thinking about what Dada's news is. It could be a research grant. Maybe it's a job offer. Maybe he's got a conference. Maybe it's because of his paper. Could be something else entirely. I don't know. But I want to know. My watch beeps to tell me it's ten thirty. I tell Al and he stops playing. We go upstairs to change when I hear the door unlock.

"Dada!" Al cries, hurrying down the stairs. He's moving so fast his socks slide all over the wood floors. I follow after him and watch as Al gives Dad a big hug.

"Hey," he greets. I can tell he's tired. Whatever happened today wore him out. There are bags under his eyes and he's all slouched over. I cross my arms and walk over, Al finally ending the embrace.

"Where were you?" Al asks. Dada sits down and sighs.

"All over the place," he replies. He glances over at the wall, smiling a bit when he sees the map. "Did you boys do that?" He asks, even though he knows it had to be us.

"Yeah," I answer. "It was Al's idea." Dad smiles and kisses Al's cheek. Al grins happily and I say, "So what's up? You promised to tell me."

"Well, I've been invited to attend a conference in a couple of weeks," Dad explains. My stomach drops and Al goes pale as Dad continues, "It's in London and is only a week long. It's been a while since I've traveled and I wanted to see what you two thought of me going." Well, obviously we don't like it. Him going away still equates us getting hurt in our minds. That's what happens when your stepmom abuses you for seven years. But it's like Dr. Hughes keeps telling us – Dada's a person and people have needs. While he likes teaching, research and traveling are what he likes best. When he does those things, Dada has stories to tell. I have to admit that it'd be nice if Dada told stories again. But there's that ever present fear that something will happen to us if he leaves. So I'm stuck in a hard place and I don't think anyone can help me out of it.

"A week's a long time," Al says wearily.

"I suppose," Dad agrees, "But it's also not all that long, either, sweetie. You'd spend the week with Granny and Winry so you wouldn't be alone. I don't want you boys alone for that long quite yet." Don't blame him. About a year ago Dada took a trip to Chicago with the chemistry department. He was only gone two days. But in those two days Al and I never showered, slept all the time and barely ate. It's like we need someone to remind us those things are important. Otherwise we're too anxious and can't remember on our own. Yeah, it's weird, but it's the way it is.

"Or we could go with you," Al says, reminding me of when we were little. Whenever Dada would go away when we were little, Al would beg for him to allow us to go with him. It got especially bad when she started hitting us. Every time Dad had to leave Al'd cling to his leg and beg for him to stay. I imagine Al as he is now wrapping his limbs around Dad's leg and beg for him to either stay or take us with him. It's kind of a funny picture.

"I would love that but you won't be on break when I leave," he says. "Sorry, boys."

"But what's one week?" Al persists. "C'mon, Dada! Take us with you!" Dad smiles sadly at him and shakes his head.

"Al, honey, I'm sorry, but you've already missed so much school this semester," Dada begins. "You and Brother need to stay here, okay?"

"No!" Al yells. "You can't go! Stay here if you won't take us! Please, Dada!"

"Alphonse," Dad says sternly. I cringe at the use of the first name. Mostly 'cause Alphonse is a terrible name but also because I can tell Dad's getting kind of fed up with him. He's acting like a little kid; begging for Dada to stay and Dad's not having any of it. Not tonight. "You can't go with me. That's final."

"So you're going, then?" I ask.

"Yes," Dad says. "I am."

"You can't!" Al cries.

"Alphonse," Dada warns.

"You can't leave us here!" Al insists, ignoring Dada's warning. "Don't you care? Don't you love us?"  
"Alphonse, I'll tell you one more time to knock it off," Dad says.

"Al," I say gently, "It's okay." Even though I'm feeling all the same feelings he is, I know that Al needs to calm down. If he doesn't, Dada will yell and that's the last thing either of us need. Al's lip quivers and he shakes his head.

"You hate us, don't you?" Al asks pathetically. "You're sick of us! That's why you want to leave! Well, fine! Go then! Maybe we hate you too!" Al stomps off, Dad standing in the living room like he's just seen a ghost or something. He turns to me, confusion on his face.

"What just happened?" Dad asks.

"Al's got a lot of feelings," I sigh. "I've got 'em too." I sit down and rest my face on my hands. Dada sits next to me.

"Why don't you tell me what those feelings are?" Dada suggests. "Talk to me, Ed; tell me how you're feeling. You might feel better if you do." I blink. Dad's never offered to talk about feelings before. That's always been Dr. Hughes' job. But if Dada wants me to open the flood gates, I guess that I will.

"Sometimes it felt like you hated us growing up," I explain. "I mean, she told us that constantly, but it went deeper than that. You were never there. You believed her stories instead of believing us. You sided with her more than you sided with us and…. I don't know. Sometimes it really felt like she was right; that we were bad and that you hated us. I think Al's just scared, you know? You haven't been gone that long in a long time. I'm scared too. We know it's stupid but we can't change how we feel." Dad turns slightly, sadness on his face. He sighs, takes off his glasses, and cleans them while he stares at the TV.

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I didn't realize you felt that way. I suppose it should have been my first instinct to trust you. You boys weren't liars. Van…. She just made it seem like you were. I'm so sorry, Edward."

"I know," I say, "But it still sucked. You have no idea what it was like to have your reputation destroyed; to have your dad think you were a lying little monster. You don't know what it was like to lie awake at night, wondering if your dad hated you every time he went away. You don't know what it's like to live in fear. But I know. Al knows. That's why he said what he said. He doesn't hate you. He's just afraid that you hate him."

"There's no way I can make up for those seven years," Dada breathes, like he's realizing it for the first time. "I can't. It's not possible. I was wrong and that hurt you. Nothing can fix that."

"Yeah," I agree. "It happened and nothing you do can fix it."

"Then how can I convince you boys that I don't hate you?" Dad asks, his voice strained. "That I'm sorry for what I did?"

"Dada," I begin, "I know you're sorry and I know you love us. But love isn't the opposite of hate, you know. I think you can love and hate someone at the same time." Dad looks away and I say, "Look – I think the only thing you can do is what you have been doing. For two years you've loved on us and made sure we knew we were safe. Just keep doing that. The rest will follow, I think."

"You're saying I should check on Al, aren't you?" Dada asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "He needs to know you haven't given up on him." Dad turns to me and smiles. He pulls my head closer and kisses my forehead.

"I love you so much, Ed," Dada says.

"I love you too, Dada," I say back. Dad stands and I follow him. He needs some support right now.

Even though Dad's good at getting Al to calm down, sometimes Al needs me. I think it hurts Dad's feelings but I also think Dad understands. For the first three years of Al's life, Mom comforted him. Then she came around and that job didn't fall to Dada; it fell to me. I had to be the one to calm him down and make him safe. That was my job for seven years so in a lot of ways it's still my job; the only job I know how to do. We walk up the stairs, Picard standing guard outside our door. He bristles at the sight of Dad like he knows Dad was the one who upset Al. He meows in warning, his tail flicking dangerously. I shake my head and walk over to him. The cat is strange. It's like he's known Al his whole life but he hasn't. He acts like he's been trained to be Al's therapy animal or maybe even a guard animal but he hasn't. This is just how Picard is. Makes me wonder what his first owner was like. Maybe his first owner needed a lot of the same things Al does. Maybe that's why he is the way he is. I don't know. I squat down in front of Picard and extend my hand toward him. He sniffs it before pressing his cold nose into my hand.

"Hey, Captain," I say gently, "It's okay. Dada's not gonna hurt Al, promise." I run my hand against Picard's back and I can feel him relax. Dad walks over and Picard yelps before darting away. I shake my head before standing. I knock on the door and wait.

"Go away," Al says from inside the room.

"Al, it's Brother," I tell him. "Can I come in?"  
"Is Dada with you?" Al asks worriedly.

"Yeah," I answer, "But he just wants to talk to you."

"Is he mad at me?"

"Nah," I reply. "He's not. Don't be scared, Al. It's okay." I take a step back and wait. Soon the door opens and Al lets us in. He sits down on his bed, Chico in his hands. I sit on my bed and allow Dad to do his thing. Dad sits next to Al, Al not making eye contact.

"Hey," Dada says softly. "I'm not angry with you."  
"I said some awful things to you," Al points out guiltily.

"Baby, I know you're scared," Dad tells him. "And it's okay to be." Al blinks as Dada takes his ever shaking hands in his. "I love you. I've always loved you. No matter where I go or how long I'm away, I'll always love you. I'm not leaving because I'm sick of you or I hate you. Dada has a conference, Al. It's part of my job. You know that. I promise that I'm not mad at you."

"I love you, Dada," Al says, his voice wavering, "But I don't believe you." Dad's face falls before he smiles lovingly at Al. It's that dad smile – you know the one. The one where the corners of his eyes crinkle and you can almost see the love in his eyes. I actually think I can.

"That's okay, Al," Dada says. "I'll just have to prove it to you." Dad kisses Al and Al wraps his arms around Dada's neck like he did when he was little. Dada stands and Al wraps his legs around Dad so he never has to let go.

"Please don't go," Al begs.

"I have to go, honey," Dada whispers gently. "I have to." Al hides his face, Dad rubbing his back. Sometimes I'm glad that our growth was stunted. That means that Dada can still hold us like we're little for a little while. We're too big for him to do it for too long, but I never feel safer than I do in those short moments.

"I'll be good, Dada," Al cries softly. "I'll be good. Don't go."

"Shh," It's okay, baby," Dada coos. "I'm not leaving for a couple more weeks. It's okay. It's okay." I can tell Dad's arms are getting tired so he sits down. Al's sitting on his lap, silently crying.

"Ally," I say, "Dada's gonna come back. He always does. Until he comes back, I'll take care of you. I always do." Al grins weakly and wipes his face.

"Yeah," he says. He sniffles and says, "Yeah. Dada will come back. Dada always comes back."

"Because he loves us," I say. Dad nods and I can tell he's proud of me. I can tell he loves me. I can tell he loves Al.

"I love you, Dada," Al says. He kisses Dad's cheek and Dad smiles at him.

"I love you too, baby," Dada tells him. He tickles Al's tummy, Al rolling off his lap to get away.

"Stop," Al laughs, getting on his knees. "I'm not a baby anymore!" Dada grins and leans forward. He reaches for Al and tickles him, Al laughing loudly.

"Maybe not," Dad agrees, "But no matter how old you get you'll always be my baby." Picard walks in and hurries over. Dad lightly pets the cat as Picard sits down next to Al. Al scratches Picard's head, a smile plastered on his face.

"Hey, bud," Al greets. "Were you worried about me?" Picard meows and butts his head into Al's arm. "I'm sorry," Al says, "I didn't mean to worry you." I shake my head; Al's ridiculous, but in a good way. He cares too much. And in a world where no one cares enough, it's refreshing to see a person care as much as my little brother does.


	14. Understanding Picard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al loves the cat shelter so much he might just move in.

In the morning Al and I both wake up in Dada's bed. It was a bad sleeping night for both of us. Al actually ended up throwing up last night but he feels fine now. Dad thinks that it was probably a dizzy spell. While most of his concussion symptoms are gone now, he's still having some issues with light, memory, and balance. Takes time for those things to heal, you know? We eat cereal at the table as Dad reviews his lab protocol. He double checks it all the time because the kids don't listen to him. He'll tell them what to do, give them a detailed protocol, and things still go wrong. You'd think that kids in orgo would be able to handle a protocol and clean up after themselves but you'd be wrong. They can't. So Dada has to know it inside and out so he can answer his students' dumb questions all lab. I don't know how he does his job, honestly. We finish breakfast, Al says goodbye to Picard, and we get in the car. The drive to school is fine and Al talks about volunteering today. He's up for it, he says, but wants me to come with him again. It's his first time actually volunteering and he's nervous. So I tell him that I'll go with him. Since Mei's mom drove us last time Dada's gonna drive this time. Mei only has calculus at the high school in the mornings so Dad has to drive to the middle school to pick her up. It's not that big a deal, though, 'cause all the schools in town are actually near each other. The elementary school is behind the middle school and the middle school is on the same campus as the high school. Small town charm I guess.

We get to school and Dada drops us off. Winry meets us like always and we walk to class together. We drop Al off at his class then Winry and I continue on towards ours. I have most classes with Winry. We're in the same advanced math, the same English, and the same history. We even have gym together. The only differences are electives and science. Winry's not in to chemistry so she's in the honors rather than the AP. She's also in shop and French while I'm in German and health. Winry takes health next semester and I'm taking intro into astronomy. We are allowed to use the college's observatory so the class goes out there once a week in the evening on top of regular class time. I think next year we're gonna take driver's ed. and psychology together. I know we'll both be driving next year but Dada says it's more for insurance benefits than anything else. Besides – I may not have my license by then. Dada did buy me the book but I haven't really looked at it yet. So yeah. There's that.

The bell rings and it's already time for lunch. I zoned out pretty hard core but the bell brought me back to reality. Winry and I meet with Al at his locker and walk to lunch together. We didn't bring a lunch today so Dada gave us lunch money. I've told Al before that when I can drive, we'll get good food for lunch instead of crappy school lunch food. The three of us wait in line, snatching up those cups of strawberries as soon as we see them. They're honestly the best thing the cafeteria serves outside of Bosco Sticks. Seriously. Don't know what it is about them but damn those preservative-filled strawberries are the best. We get the rest of our food and pay before sitting down. Ling joins us and so does Rose. They both get irritated because we got the strawberries before they did.

"I swear," Rose mumbles, "The way they feed us you'd think they're trying to kill us." We all laugh.

"Mei told me you're volunteering today, Al," Ling says. Al nods and Ling says, "You're super awesome, man. We've been trying to recruit volunteers but haven't had much luck."  
"If I didn't have to work at the garage I'd do it in a heartbeat," Winry says, opening her strawberries. "But I have to work a lot. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ling says. "You support the shelter in a different way. You and your grandma adopted your dog there, right?" Winry nods.

"Yeah," Winry says. "Den lost his leg when he was puppy and nobody wanted him. But when I was a kid I fell in love with him so we adopted him." I smile. Not only did Winry fall in love with that dog, she designed him a prosthetic so he could walk like a normal dog. Winry's awesome. I blush and stare at my tray. Why am I thinking about her like that? Why? I don't know why, but lately I've been thinking about touching her and maybe even…. I blush harder. I don't like where my thoughts are going. Winry's my friend. My beautiful, incredible, smart, warm, nice, passionate, kind friend.

"You're going to the shelter too, Ed?" Ling asks.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly. Al nudges me and I nod. "Uh, yeah. Probably just today, though. I don't think it's really my thing."  
"But you and Al do everything together," Rose says.

"Well, yeah, but animals are definitely more Al's thing," I explain.

"How's Picard?" Ling asks.

"Oh, he's great," Al says instantly. "He's adjusted really well to living at my house. He's eating and putting on some weight. We're taking him to the vet on Saturday for his check-up and shots. I think he'll be good at the vet. Picard sleeps next to me and plays with all the toys we got him and doesn't make too much noise. He's a really good cat."

"Yeah, Captain's a good cat," I agree.

"It's super cool that you connected with him," Ling says. "Mei mentioned that Picard wasn't doing so well. Not eating and shit. So it's pretty legit that you connected with him. Think you saved his life, Al." Al blushes.

"I don't know about that," Al says, picking at his food. Al glances at me and says with his eyes that he thinks it's the other way around. I nod. Picard gives Al a reason to keep going. A reason to wish he wasn't dead. So yeah. He might have saved Picard but Picard saved him too. He just can't say that in front of them.

No one knows except me that he's in the low place – that he wishes he was dead most of the time. If anyone knew, they'd freak out. Al seems so happy at school. All our friends think he's my happy little brother. But they don't know Al, not really. They don't know me, either. As everyone talks I realize that someday, I'll have to tell them the truth. No one but Winry knows about the abuse. And what Winry knows isn't much. She doesn't know how bad it was. No one does. And someday, I'll have to tell them. Friends tell each other that stuff. They're honest with each other and they don't keep secrets. So while I don't have to tell them everything if I don't want to, I at least need to tell them the darkest secret I have. Someday, I'll have to tell them I was abused. Al laughs lightly and I take a bite of those strawberries. I don't have to tell them right now. I don't have to tell them until I'm ready. I close my eyes and grin – those strawberries really do taste good.

At the end of the day Dada picks us up and drives to the middle school. Mei's waiting for us and she grins broadly when she sees us. She hurries into the backseat and talks the whole way to the shelter. She tells Dad when to pick us up and we go inside. The staff greets us warmly and we go downstairs. Mei lets Al do the cat room so he and I go in there. I see a radio and decide to turn it on. I find a station to listen to and smile. Better when I'm Dancin' by the M-Train is on so I turn it up. Al laughs and we bounce a little while we work. Al sings along with the song, the cats watching him and fighting for his attention. He pours them some food and the cats go nuts. He's still singing, a smile plastered on his face as he pets the cats. They walk all over him, Al laying down on the ground. I sit cross-legged next to him and smile. Al's in his element. He's good at this. He'll be fine next week. He won't need me.

"Better when I'm dancin'," Al sings softly to an orange tabby on his chest. He pets that cat and I can't help but think that if given the choice, Al wouldn't leave. That our he'd just adopt all the cats. One or the other.

"Dreamsicle likes you," Mei comments, walking in. I spring up and turn the radio down as the song ends. Al smiles up at her and Mei blushes slightly. "He, uh, you know… he's sweet."

"Just like the ice cream," Al hums. I blink and wonder if Mei thinks about Al the way I think about Winry. You know – wanting to touch him and be near him all the time. Wishing she could press her lips against his and wrap her arms around his middle and never have to let go. My eyes widen and it hits me. I like Winry. I like her the way Mei likes Al. Gross. That's not supposed to happen. Winry's my friend. But maybe…. Maybe she could be more. I don't know. I've got so much other shit to deal with I really can't add a girlfriend on top of it all. But maybe we're not boyfriend-girlfriend. Maybe we could just be Ed and Winry. Maybe nothing would change between us except we cuddled or we maybe kissed. Maybe we could just be friends still. I don't know. All I know is I like her. She makes me safe; feel like I can do anything. I don't need to kiss her or be her boyfriend to feel those things.

"How's Picard?" Mei asks, breaking me free of my thoughts.

"He's great," Al says, sitting up. Dreamsicle gives Al a sour look before hurrying off. Al laughs and says, "He's adjusting really well. Maybe sometime you can come over and visit him."

"Well," Mei begins, "If I come over it's not to see him." Al blinks, obviously confused.

"Who else would you want to see?" Al asks and Mei laughs.

"You, Alphonse," she chuckles, standing. "You silly goose." Al laughs.

"Right," he says. "'Cause we're friends."

"Yeah," Mei replies warmly. "I gotta get back to work." She starts to walk away, but pauses. "Al?"

"What?" Al asks, standing too. He's got boxes to clean still. Can't lay on the floor forever.

"It's just, well," Mei struggles, "The week you adopted Picard, I heard you say that you understood him." My blood runs cold as Mei turns to face us. "I don't mean to pry and I won't ask, but I wanted to let you know that if you truly do understand him, I'm sorry that you do." Al's whole body quivers and the three of us just stare at each other. I didn't think she heard him. But I was wrong. She did. Mei lowers her gaze and shakes her head. "Sorry," she says, "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Mei," Al says as she turns to leave, "I do understand him." I blink, my heart thumping as I wait to hear what Al's gonna tell her or what Mei's gonna ask. She pauses again, but keeps her back toward us.

"You do?" She questions softly.

"Yeah," Al replies with a strained voice. "I'm…. I'm not ready to tell you now, but someday I will be." I watch as Mei twitches and runs over. She gives Al a big hug, Al sniffling loudly.

"I'm sorry," Mei apologizes. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. Please don't stop volunteering 'cause I can't keep my mouth shut." Al wipes his face with one hand and smiles weakly.

"I won't," he tells her. "I promise." Mei pulls away, a smile on her face.

"Good," she says. "I'm glad." Mei walks off, finally leaving the cat room. I turn to Al. I've never been more terrified that someone stumbled upon our secret. But I've also never been more proud of Al. He was so brave, so calm just then and I'm so proud of him. Al sinks to his knees, blinking tears out of his eyes. They roll down his face and I unzip his backpack. I take Chico out and hand it to him before sitting down next to him.

"Hey," I say gently. "You were so brave, Al. I'm so proud of you." Al grins and tries to wipe his face. "You handled it so well."

"I was really anxious," Al says, "But I got passed it somehow. I was brave but I don't know how I did it. I don't know if I'll be brave like that for a while."

"That's okay," I tell him. "You don't gotta be brave all the time. No one can keep that up."

"You can," Al replies. "You're brave all the time."

"Is that a joke?" I scoff. Al shakes his head.

"No," Al says. "I mean it. You're brave all the time." I shake my head.

"You're nice," I say, standing, "But you're also wrong. C'mon; we've got boxes to clean." Al stands, Chico tucked under his arm. He grabs my hand and prevents me from walking away. "What's wrong?"

"Brother, you're brave," he tells me. "And when you're brave, I am too." I smile at him. Al's a nice person. Always has been. Sometimes I think he's too nice. Now is one of those times. I'm definitely not brave all the time. I don't think anyone can be. It's hard to be brave. Sometimes we get scared and the bravery gets choked right out of us. I know that if Mei told me she heard what I said to Picard, that I understood that poor abused cat, I would have freaked out. But Al didn't. He was brave, even though he was anxious. I'll be brave a different time. I'll be brave when Al can't be. But for now, I'll pretend I'm brave all the time since Al thinks that I am. Maybe if I pretend to be brave all the time long enough, it'll actually be true.

We finish in the cat room and Al's still got Chico out. When Al cleaned boxes, Chico sat on the ground next to him and the cats came over and sniffed him. Guess they thought Chico was a real cat or something. Before we leave the cat room, I remind Al to put Chico away so Mei won't see. We've already had a close call in terms of telling Mei our secrets and I don't feel like having another one. I know Al feels the same so he puts Chico in his backpack and we leave the cat room. Mei waves and says she's nearly finished. While she works we go upstairs and play with the puppies Ling mentioned a few weeks ago. They're finally old enough to be adopted out and I can tell the shelter volunteers are sad they're going to adoption Saturday this week. They really like those puppies. I mean, they want them to have homes and stuff but it's sad when stuff you like goes away, even if they're in a better place. A few minutes after we start playing with the puppies, Dad comes in. He smiles at us and Al holds up this fluff-ball up for Dada to see.

"Look, Dada!" Al cries eagerly. The puppy squirms and Al nuzzles his face into its fur. "He's so cute! And soft!"

"Does he have a name?" Dada asks, walking over.

"Yup!" Al replies. "They all do. This is Bear!"

"Well hello, Bear," Dada greets, petting Bear's fur. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Can we adopt him, Dada, please?" Al begs.

"Or this one!" I add, pointing at another little ball of fur. "This is my favorite. Her name's Puff 'cause she's so fat." The puppy shakes her ears, squealing as one of her brothers crawls all over her.

"We just brought home a cat, boys," Dad laughs. "How about we hold off on adopting a pet until Picard's better settled. Bear struggles out of Al's grip and tumbles on to the floor.

"Bear," Mei laughs, appearing from downstairs. Bear runs over to her and Mei giggles. "You silly boy." She scratches the dog's neck and says, "I'm gonna miss you and your siblings when you get adopted Saturday."

"You kids ready?" Dad asks.

"Yeah," Mei replies brightly. "Just finished!"

"Then let's get you home," Dad says, checking his watch. "It's getting close to six. Don't want your parents to worry about you." Mei shrugs and slumps off.

"They won't," Mei replies. "Never do."

"How come?" Al asks like he's forgotten that he's met her mother. I can imagine that with a mom like hers and a dad as absent as hers that her parents don't worry. That's probably why Ling parties all the time.

"They're always working," Mei explains, waving good-bye to the shelter employees as we walk out. "I don't think they ever really wanted kids, to be honest. Ling and I always had a nanny growing up."

"I'm sorry," Al says, getting in the car. "That's gotta be hard." Mei shrugs again, Dada starting the car.

"I'm used to it," Mei insists.

"Well, maybe sometime you could come over," Al suggests, his cheeks getting pink. He shakes his head and says, "Well, maybe. If you want to, I mean." Mei grins and Dada nudges me. He asks me silently if Al likes Mei and I shrug. I don't know. If he does, he's just know realizing it, I think. That or he's just embarrassed that he asked a friend over. Either one.

"I do," Mei answers. "You promised to show me Star Trek and I'm gonna hold you to that." Al blushes even harder and I grin.

"Uh, yeah," I say aloud, Dada smiling at me. "I'm thinkin' he does."

"Guess you boys really are growing up," Dad says.

"C'mon, Dad," I say, a hint of irritation in my voice, "Don't get mushy on me. We're the same as we were yesterday. It's not like we're grown-ups or anything."  
"Well, no," Dada agrees, "But it's just little moments like these that really hit home that you're not little kids anymore. I missed most of that." I rest my head against the seat and sigh.

"Dada," I groan, "I haven't been a little kid since I was six." Al stops talking and stares at his shoes. Mei glances around in confusion and I kinda forgot she was even here. But Mei doesn't ask what I mean. Didn't think that she would. She already got her awkward question out at the shelter. She's not allowed to ask a second one.

"No," Dada agrees sadly. "I guess not." Well. I killed that conversation. Stake right to the heart.

Way to go, Ed.

We drop Mei off at her house after the most uncomfortable silence I've ever had to endure. She knew that I had touched a nerve with both Dada and Al, but she obviously didn't know what that was. All she knows is that Al understands Picard, but that could mean anything, really. So she had to sit through that and I do feel bad that she did. I mean, I've been on that end more times than I care to count. Dada seems upset still and he doesn't ask what we want for dinner. He just picks up something (It's frigging Olive Garden. Again.) and drives home. Al sets the table for three but Dada doesn't eat with us. I guess that I probably hurt his feelings. I don't know. I wasn't trying to. I pick at my food (Dada ordered me my favorite) and sigh. I can tell Al's anxious 'cause Dad's not eating with us. Just another unintended consequence of a comment I thought was innocent. I finish eating and go up to my room. I do homework for a few minutes before Al creeps in. He sits on my bed, Chico tucked under his arm and sighs. I glance backward at him before deciding I want to focus on homework. But out of habit, my lips move.

"What's the matter?" I ask. Taking care of Al is like instinct to me. I know how to do it. I know how to talk to him, how to remind him to take care of himself, and how to calm him down. I can tell when he doesn't eat and I know when he doesn't sleep well. I just know Al. So asking him if he's okay is second nature to me and I'll do it even if I'm tired or frustrated or whatever. It's all I know in some ways.

"Is Dada mad at you?" Al asks quietly. I set my pencil down and shrug.

"Hell if I know," I reply. "I wasn't tryin' to be mean or anything. What I said was true."

"Yeah, but I think it hurt his feelings," Al says.

"So?" I question sharply.

"So you should apologize," Al tells me. "What happened isn't his fault."

"Yeah, well, he's not innocent either," I mutter.

"I didn't say that," Al points out. "All I said was it's not his fault."

"Then who's fault is it, Al?" I ask loudly. "Who forced me to grow up when I was six, huh? Because it sure as hell feels like Dad had something to do with that!"

"She did," Al says quietly. "Please don't yell at me, Brother. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"Sorry," I spit. "Don't be such a damn baby about it." I'm in a bad mood because of what happened in the car. I know I shouldn't take it out on Al, but I am and can't get myself to stop.

"I'm sorry, Brother," Al says, his voice strained. "I'm not trying to be a baby about it."

"Well, you are," I snap. "If you're just gonna annoy me, go somewhere else." Al sniffles and I groan. "You gonna cry, you big baby?"

"No," Al says, tears in his voice. For some reason, his strained voice only eggs me on, encouraging me to continue being a dick to him. There's a voice in the back of my head screaming at me to stop, but the rest of me is so damn irritated that I ignore it.

"Go cry somewhere else," I mutter. Al stands but I don't hear him leave. I glance back and he's staring at the door. I groan loudly. Why is he annoying me so badly? I don't understand. Al's my whole world; he's the person I care about the most. Why am I treating him like shit? Why am I ignoring the part of me that's begging me to stop?

"I know I'm a baby," Al says quietly. "I don't mean to be, honest."

"You wanna know why you're such a big baby?" I ask. I know what I'm about to say is mean. I know it is. But the words fall off my tongue before I can stop them; "It's 'cause you hide behind me all the time. All you do is cry and cling to me and I'm sick of it! You can't even take care of yourself! You always need me to clean up after you, to calm you down, and remind you to do shit like shower! Just grow up already! I should have forced you to take a beating once in a while so you wouldn't have grown up to be such a damn baby!" Al stares at me and his lip trembles. I blink, fully realizing that what I said was beyond hurtful but the bubbles prevent me from apologizing. Al rubs at his eyes and starts crying. He wails pitifully, his whole body shaking as I stare at him. I can't believe I said that. Why the hell did I say that?! Taking care of him is my job – it always has been. I gladly took beatings growing up because I love him. And yeah – it can be tiring to always take care of Al. But I don't mind doing it. He needs me and I need him. Why the hell did I say all that?

"I'm sorry," Al wails. "I'm sorry!"

"Al," I manage. I stand up and try to grab his hand but he pulls away from me.

"I knew you hated me!" Al cries. "I knew it! You hate me 'cause I can't take care of myself! I'm sorry, Brother! I really am! I don't even know why I'm here if all I do is piss you off and get in everyone's way! Maybe I really am better off…." Al trails off and I try again to grab his hand. He pulls away again and yells, "Don't touch me!" I flinch, my heart pounding.

"Ally, I'm sorry," I plead. "Really, I am. I'm mad at Dada, not you. I don't think you're a baby and I don't hate you. You have to believe me!" Al shakes his head and bolts out of the room. I hurry after him and call, "Al!" He goes to Dad's room and knocks. Dad doesn't answer so I guess he's in his office. I walk over to Al, still trying to calm him down and he pushes me.

"Stay away!" He yells. "Don't touch me!" I sit on the floor, unable to process what happened. Al's never pushed me. Ever. I look up at him and his eyes widen. He backs up, his entire body shaking as he realizes what he did.

"I-I'm sorry," He stutters. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I stand up and walk over to him. He cowers away from me and I sit cross-legged in front of him.

"No," I say softly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said. It wasn't true. I took my anger out on you and that was wrong. I'm so sorry, Al." I blink, feeling tears pricking in my eyes. "I love you, Al. I do. I love you." Al shakes his head and he wails loudly. I sigh and gently wrap my arms around his neck. I pull him into my chest and his whole body relaxes. I pet his hair, whispering over and over again how I'm sorry. I can't believe I sad all that to him. Sure, Al cries a lot but who wouldn't considering what he's been through? Hell, I cry a lot. I cry a lot more than other kids in my grade do. So if he's a big baby, I'm a big one too. I think a baby lives deep inside everyone. It gets buried and lost, but it's there. It's that baby that lets you see the good things in the world and laugh at silly things. But that baby also is what makes you cry a lot.

"I'm sorry, Brother," Al wails pathetically. "I'm sorry!"

"Shh," I say gently, "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." Al struggles to breathe and I say, "Breath, buddy. In through your nose and out through your mouth. You've got Chico and I've got you. You're safe. Just breathe." I walk through breathing with Al, Al slowly getting the rhythm right. Once he's breathing he holds me tighter, shaking and whimpering into me.

"I love you too," Al whispers. "I love you so much, Brother." I nod.

"I know you do," I say. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean what I said. You're not just a big baby. You're brave and strong and you're gonna be okay. We both are, I think." Al nods but whimpers softly. I pet his hair and ask, "What's the matter?"

"I wish I were dead, Brother," he confides in me. "That hasn't gone away."

"I know," I reply. "Are you hurting yourself or thinking about it?" Al nods.

"I think about it, yeah," he admits, his voice shaking. "I haven't done anything, though. All I've done is scratch at my skin but I catch myself doing it before I hurt myself."

"Good boy," I praise softly. "Please don't ever hurt yourself. You deserve better, Ally. You really do. And even if you wish you were dead, I am so happy that you're not." Al nods again.

"I know," he whispers tiredly. "And in the end, I think I'll stick around because of you. You and Dada and Winry and Granny and Picard and everyone else who cares about me." I grin weakly. That's the Al I know.

"Good," I say. "I'm proud of you." Al lays his head on my lap and I can tell he's grinning. He loves those four little words so much. They mean so much to him and to me. So I know he's smiling. "Al, I won't explode at you again like that, I promise."

"And promise that you'll apologize to Dada?" Al asks tiredly. I nod.

"Yup," I say. "I will. What I said was mean and I promise I'll apologize to him before I go to bed."

"I know, Ed," he says sleepily. "You always keep your promises." Well, that's not exactly true but I do try. And I've never intentionally broken a promise that I've made to Al. So yeah. I'll never blow up at him again and I'll try not to take my feelings out on him again. If I do, I won't be doing my job – the only job that I know how to do.


	15. Can You Write the Letter "K"?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is there pie at Elric Family Thanksgiving?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Just as a head's up, there is abuse in the first half of the chapter. If that makes you uncomfortable, best to skip to the middle of the chapter. Enjoy! :)

It's Wednesday. Wednesday is slowly turning into my least favorite day of the week. I mean, I wasn't its biggest fan when Dada started forcing us to go to the group in the first place, but now that I'm telling my story I think I hate it even more. Even though it feels good to get it off my chest and talk about it, I hate doing it. It's uncomfortable. A whole group of kids I don't even know, talk to, or like know more about the abuse than my best friend does. How messed up is that? How messed up is it that I had to courage to tell strangers about That Night, about the days and weeks that followed, but I'm too scared to tell Winry? I've known Winry my whole life. I should be able to tell her things like that. I should be able to tell her about That Night, how she managed to abuse us even when Dad was home, about the chain, about the basement, and about the mirror. I should be able to tell her how I spent hours in front of that nasty ass mirror, repeating "I'm a bad boy" over and over. But I can't. Believe me, I've tried.

When I was thirteen after everything came to light, I tried to tell Winry. I was at her house and Al was sleeping. It was when Dada was gone for three days right after she got arrested. It was night and I couldn't sleep. All I could do was lie awake, worrying about how if me or Al woke up screaming or with a wet bed, we'd get in trouble. That we'd have to stand in front of a mirror and chant those four words over and over until the sun came up. I eventually did fall asleep, but when I woke up later that night, my bed was soaked. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. This was my first time sleeping over at Winry's in years. All I could think of was the mirror. There wasn't a mirror in my room so I got up and went into the bathroom. I turned on the light, my haggard reflection staring at me and I began talking. "I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy." Over and over and over again. Until someone knocked on the door. It was Winry and she asked me what I was doing. I wanted to answer. I wanted to open the door and explain myself. Tell her about that full-length mirror in my room at home, how my blood is still smeared on it, and how Al and I had to stand in front of it for hours and say those words. But I couldn't. The bubbles were there preventing me from saying anything even though I wanted nothing more than to open up to her. But I couldn't. So yeah. I don't know why I can tell a group of strangers something that personal when I can't even tell Winry. All I know is that I hope one day that courage is transferable.

Dad drops us off at the building and like always Al's hand is wrapped up in mine. People probably think it's weird that Al and I hold hands all the time. Well, to them it is, but it's not. Al and I need to know that the other one is still there I guess. I really don't know why we do it. I just know that I've gotten more weird or even dirty looks than I can remember because of it. I remember this one time when I was thirteen and Al was twelve we were in Walmart with Dad. We were anxious messes back then but no one could watch us and he didn't want to leave us alone so we had to go with him. Naturally, Al took my hand because he was scared. We strayed away from Dada to look at video games and this woman with a bunch of little kids walks over to us. She yells at us about how we shouldn't "flaunt" our sexuality around and how it's sinful and all that shit. I tried to tell her in a meek voice that we weren't dating, we were brothers, and that made it worse. She thought we were doing that whole incest thing. Naturally, Al started crying because he can't handle getting yelled at and I tried to stand up for us. But the more she talked the scareder I got and bam – I started crying too. Dada was furious of course. I don't know why people think they have the right to butt in to stranger's affairs. I mean even if Al and I were a couple and not brothers, she would have no right to come up to us and say all those nasty things, especially in front of her kids. At least, I don't think so. But despite all the shit like that that happens 'cause Al and me hold hands, we haven't stopped. It's so natural to us. We'll probably hold hands forever. I don't know.

We get inside and Dr. Hughes greets us. We talk for a minute before we sit down. The table of snacks sits near us and some of the other kids are at it. They're chatting a little and Al's watching them. I stare too before blinking. My stomach growls and I can't help but think I should get some food. But I never get food. Not here. Al turns to me and asks with his eyes if I'm hungry. I tell him I am but that I don't want anything. Al nods and stops talking to me. He stands and walks over to the table and I watch as he talks with one of the kids. It's that Lindsay girl. That Lindsay girl with the dead brother. I can't believe that Al is talking with someone he barely knows. Lindsay grins at him and hands him an apple. Al thanks her walks back over.

"Here," he says. "Eat it." I blink and take the apple.

"What the hell?" I ask.

"You're hungry but you don't like going to the snack table," Al explains. "So I got it for you." Al's face falls and he asks, "Was that wrong?" I take a bite and shake my head.

"No," I say with my mouth full. "You've just never liked going there either."

"Well, I don't," Al replies. "But I'll do it for you." I grin at him.

"Thanks," I say. "I'm proud of you." Al grins ear to ear and I ask, "Want some?"

"Sure," Al answers. We share the apple, passing it back and forth until it's gone. By the time we're finished the group's all here. I throw away the apple core and sigh. I know what I have to talk about. I'm just not sure I can. The next part of my story is hard. But I know they'll all be waiting for it. I sit down, Al taking my hand as Dr. Hughes greets the group. I set my watch and wait. As soon as he's done talking, everyone stares at me like they always do. So without any more waiting I start the timer and start talking.

"It was late March, maybe early April, when Dada went away again. It was two weeks since he got home from Italy and over a month since Vanessa started hitting us. Al and I were scared to death. Al clung to him the entire day he was leaving and Dad almost missed his plane 'cause neither of us would let him go. Vanessa forced us off him and as soon as we got home, she screamed at us. I can't even remember what she yelled at us for. She was angry with us I guess 'cause no matter what she did or what stories she fabricated, Dad still loved us. He always greeted us warmly at the airport and always tucked us in. She could lie and lie and lie but Dad's behavior never changed. He never went off the deep end. He never screamed until his voice was gone. He never punished us the way she thought was appropriate and that made her angry. It was around six in the evening and I knew as she yelled that we wouldn't get fed. I didn't know when we would get fed again. We stood there and took the screaming until suddenly Vanessa grabbed Al's shirt collar. He screamed and fought to get away, scared of what she was going to do to him.

"'You gonna cry, Ally?' She taunted. 'If you cry, I'll hit your brother until you stop crying.' Al's lip trembled and he shook his head.

'N-No,' he stuttered. 'I w-w-won' c-cry.' Vanessa smirked and threw him down. She walked over to me and I started quivering.

'Did I say I'd hit your brother if you cried?' Vanessa asked, lifting me off the ground by my hair. I cried out, trying desperately to get away as Al nodded.

'Tha's what you said,' Al confirmed. Vanessa laughed wildly and punched me right in the eye. She threw me down, Al screaming in the back ground.

'I lied,' she informed us both. 'I meant to say that if Ed cried, I'd beat you, Al. Oops.' I blinked tears out of my eyes but quickly dried them. If not crying was what would keep Al safe, I was going to do it. Vanessa hit my face again and I could feel blood run down my face. It stained my shirt and it hurt like hell but I didn't cry. She hit me again, Al begging her to stop and hit him instead, but she kept going. She punched my face over and over again until she began kicking me instead. I wanted nothing more than to beg her to stop – to start wailing for Dada to come save me but I bit my tongue. I bit it so hard my teeth sliced through it and I could taste blood in my mouth. She just kept going, harder and faster, until finally I caved. I felt a single tear roll down my swollen face and she stopped hitting me immediately.

'You held out much longer than I thought you would,' Vanessa snickered, hovering over Al now. Al quivered in fear, shaking his head and begging for her to stay away. I was so ashamed that I cried. Now Al had to get it too.

'No,' I said, painfully standing as Vanessa lunged at him. 'Don't! Leave him alone! I'm not crying! Hit me instead!' Vanessa paused.

'What do you mean you aren't crying?' She questioned. She turned to face me and I blinked. There were tears running down my face still. She smirked at me and said, 'Pretty sure that counts as crying, you little shit.' I wiped my face but couldn't get the tears to stop. Vanessa walked back over and painfully grabbed my hair. 'You gonna cry for Daddy?' I shook my head but couldn't prevent a strangled cry from leaving my lips.

'Don' hurt Al,' I begged pathetically.

'Why shouldn't I?' Vanessa questioned. 'He's a bad boy. Bad boys need to be punished.' Al was backed up against the wall, his whole body shaking. Vanessa sneered at us both before setting me down. 'Upstairs. Both of you. To the mirror.' We both nodded and scurried upstairs. My face was puffy and bleeding, Al looking over guiltily every so often. We chanted those words, the words that had begun to feel like acid on my tongue. I hated saying it. I think part of me knew it was a lie but I couldn't help but believe it. If I wasn't bad, if I was good, Vanessa wouldn't hit me. She wouldn't punish me. But I was bad. So I was punished. It made sense in my six-year-old mind.

"A few hours passed and Vanessa came up and screamed at us to get ready for bed. She dressed Al since he was still being forced to wear diapers to bed and didn't let him go potty or brush his teeth. She didn't let me, either. But after she was in her room, Al snuck out of our room. I wondered if maybe he had to go potty and was going even though Vanessa told him not to. He returned shortly after leaving, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his hand. Dad always put that on our cuts and things when we got hurt to clean them. He also had a few q-tips as well, desperately clutched in his pudgy hand. I sat up in my bed and Al hurried over. He crawled up next to me and opened the bottle.

"'What are you doin', Ally?' I whispered.

'Your owies need to be clean,' Al whispered back. He dipped a q-tip in the bottle and lightly dabbed it on one of the cuts left behind on my face by Vanessa's engagement ring. That thing really tore you up. Al cleaned my face and when he was done he left again. I guessed he was going to put the bottle back so he wouldn't get in trouble in the morning. He came back again, this time with a cold pack in his hands. He crawled back into bed and pressed it on my cheek.

'Al, stop,' I whined. 'It hurts.'

'It's gots to be cold so it'll be better,' Al insisted. My lip quivered and I nodded. It was my job to take care of Al. And here he was, a four-year-old kid, taking care of me after I got hurt. It should have been the other way around and very soon, it would be. Al squirmed and yawned loudly.

'Go to sleep, Al,' I instructed. 'I can keep this on my face.'

'I hafta go potty,' he told me softly.

'You can't,' I remind him. 'If you take it off, she'll know and you'll get in trouble.' Al nodded and lowered his arm.

'I wan' Daddy,' he whimpered. I guess I could sense tears so I pulled him into my chest. He cried himself out and I petted his hair until I too fell asleep.

"The next several days were rough for us. We never got fed, never got bathed, and were hit a lot. We couldn't miss a ton of school so she beat us in places teachers couldn't see. Dad had been gone for a week. It was Friday and he wasn't coming back for another week. My stomach groaned loudly at me, begging for me to eat. But I knew what happened when I stole food. So instead I was a cranky little monster. I had been short with my teacher all week but Friday was the tipping point. I was tired because I wasn't sleeping well (if I got to sleep at all). I had to take care of Al after he got beaten and that was putting a toil on my emotionally. I couldn't handle it. On top of my own beatings, I wasn't getting fed or taken care of and couldn't take care of Al. So on Friday, I snapped. We were practicing writing letters and the letter 'k' was a hard one for us. The teacher was working with my table and I was getting frustrated. I couldn't do it. My hands were shaking and I was tired and I was hungry and I couldn't stop thinking about how when I was at school, Al was at home getting screamed at and hit.

'Ed, can you write the letter 'k'?' The teacher asked from across the table. I shook my head.

'No,' I said. 'It's a dumb letter. I'm not writing it.'

'Edward, you have to follow directions,' the teacher reminded me. The other kids stared as she said, 'Please write the letter 'k' for me.'

'No!' I yelled. I stood up and kicked my chair. 'It's dumb and I'm not doing it! You can't make me!' The teacher stood and glared at me. I got scared really fast as she looked angrily at me, my legs shaking.

'Move your stick, Ed,' she told me. Move my stick? Move my stick so Vanessa would know I was bad? Move my stick so I got a yellow day? No. My heart froze and I shook my head.

'Sorry,' I whimpered. All the kids stared at me and I felt puke rise up in my throat. I swallowed and picked my chair up. 'Sorry,' I said again, 'I'll try writing.' The teacher shook her head.

'It's too late,' she told me. 'Move you're stick.'

'I can't!' I cried, squirming as the sudden urge to pee struck me. 'I can't! I'll get in trouble! I can't!' I stared crying, rubbing desperately at my eyes. The teacher walked over and grabbed my shoulder.

'Let's go to the hall,' she suggested. She removed me from the classroom and I started bawling.

'I'm a bad boy,' I wailed. 'I'm a bad boy!'

'Edward, what's gotten into you?' She asked worriedly. I shook my head. Oh, how badly I wanted to tell her. I wanted to tell her all about Vanessa and what she did to me. I wanted to tell her Vanessa's the reason I smelled bad and was short with her all week. But I couldn't. All I could do was cry.

'I wan' Dada,' I managed to say in between sobs.

'Edward,' the teacher said softly, 'Is something happening at home?' I froze. She was on to me. She knew. I shook my head, whimpering as I stepped away from her. What was I supposed to do? How'd she catch on? How'd she know? Vanessa was gonna find out. She was going to scream at me, beat me as Al watched. What was I going to do? All I did was throw up. I threw up all over me and her, the teacher gasping loudly.

'Goodness, Ed!' She cried. I slumped down and buried my face in my knees. I was still crying for Dada when she took my hand. 'Let's call your Dad.' I nodded meekly. Maybe Dad could get me to calm down. We walked to the office and she dialed Dad's cell. He answered and she handed the phone to me.

'Ed?'

'Dada, come home,' I wailed into the phone. 'Come home! Please, Dada!'

'Calm down, honey,' Dada instructed gently. 'What's wrong?'

'I can' write the letter 'k' 'cause I'm dumb,' I told him pathetically.

'Oh, sweetie, you're not dumb,' Dada said over the phone. 'That letter can be tricky sometimes, don't you think?' I nodded.

'Uh-huh, yeah,' I answered. 'They're gonna make me move my stick, Dada! But I can be good, really! I can be!'

'Edward, baby, I know you can,' Dad told me. 'If you're good for your teacher, maybe you can still get a green day. Just try your best to write that letter, okay?' I wiped my face and nodded.

'I threw up,' I inform him. 'Come get me.'

'Edward, I'm in Arizona, remember? I can't.'

'Come get me,' I said again.

'Baby, I can't,' Dada said. 'Just tough it out, okay? I'll be home next week. Can I talk to your teacher now?' I nodded and handed to phone to her. She had me sit down and I heard her say how she was worried about me. I couldn't hear what Dad told her and I'll probably never know. All I know is I'd always have teachers who worried, but never worried enough to actually help me.

"I managed to get a green day because I was good the rest of the day. I wrote the letter, listened, and was an angel. I even kept my best 'k' to hide somewhere so I could show Dad when he got home. If I didn't hide it, Vanessa would find it and get rid of it. So I kept it stuffed in pocket and planned to hide it in my dresser until Dada came home. I made it home and couldn't find Al. I looked all over the house for him but couldn't find him. Vanessa wasn't home so I wondered if he was where ever she was. I put my puke-covered clothes from school in the hamper (the nurse gave me clothes to change into) and called for him. There was no response so I guessed he was either outside or with Vanessa. I walked down stairs, pausing when I heard someone call my name.

'Ed! Brother!' It was Al!

'Al!' I called. 'Al, where are you!'

'Brother, help!' Al cried. I followed his voice to a closet and tried to open it. It was locked so I sat down in front of it.

'Al, are you okay?' I asked worriedly.

'Nessa cut me,' he cried. 'My arm's bleedin', Brother!'

'What happened?' I pressed.

'I don' know,' Al replied, his voice strained. 'I was in our room playin' blocks in our room an' Nessa came in an' started yellin' at me! She threw things an' broke the picture of Mom! She hurt me with Mom an' locked me in here!'

'What happened to Mom?' I demanded.

'I got blood on her, Brother,' Al cried pathetically. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Brother! I'm sorry!'

'Press your hand onto the owie until it's done bleedin',' I instructed.

'I can't, Brother!' Al wailed. 'It hurts!'

'Hold on, Ally,' I said, 'I think I can unlock it. I'll help you. Hang on.' The doors in our house really only lock from outside. But luckily the key slot is the right size that if you put a coin in there, the door will unlock. I ran around the house, looking for a coin and when I found one I unlocked the door. Like most days Al didn't have preschool, he was still in his urine-soaked clothes and shivering 'cause he was cold. I shut the door and walked over to him. He was crying still, his eyes all puffy and red. I sat down in front of him and took my shoe off followed by my sock. I saw on TV that if you pressed something (like a hand or clothes) on a cut, the bleeding would stop. So I pressed my sock on Al's arm and he instantly started screaming.

'Shh,' I whispered. 'Don' scream, Al. I know it hurts but on TV they press stuff on the owie 'til it's all done bleeding.'

'It hurts, Brother!' Al cried.

'I know, just be brave,' I told him. Al nodded and put on his bravest face. I pressed the sock harder, Al hissing in pain but he never screamed again. He just cried silently. 'Good boy,' I praised, remembering how Dada praised us when we were good. I figured Al needed to hear that.

'I'm cold, Brother,' Al whimpered.

'That's 'cause you have wet jammies on,' I pointed out. Finally, that cut stopped bleeding and I took the sock off.

'I got your sock dirty,' Al said softly.

'Don' worry 'bout it, Ally,' I told him. 'I've got lots of socks.' I offered him my hand. 'Wanna change?' Al's lips twitched but he stayed still. He didn't move except to shake his head.

'I can't' Al replied. 'She'll get mad.'

'But you're cold,' I remind him. 'If we take your diaper off an' put dry clothes on you'll feel better an' you can go potty then.'

'I'm not s'posed to,' Al protested meekly. 'She'll get mad.' I sighed, but gave up. I didn't want Al to get in trouble 'cause of me.

'Don' worry 'bout Mom,' I told him softly. 'When Dada comes home, he'll fix it. Promise.' Al nodded and laid his head down on my lap. We sat like that in that closet until Vanessa got home, only to have to stand in front of that damn mirror until she went to bed."

My watch beeps and I quickly silence it. Once that watch goes off, I'm done telling stories. I mean, I'm done telling mine. If they want to hear about trampolines or lab or dogs or something, I'll tell them. But when my watch goes off my story ends until next week. Everyone kinda stares at me before looking away. I guess they've learned that I only tell my story in small sections by now. I think it irritates them still, but whatever. I don't really care what they think. Never really have, I guess. That's probably why I'm telling them in the first place. Most of me doesn't care what they think of me. There's a small part, of course, that cares but most of me doesn't. But everyone's like that.

You can say you don't care about what people say about you all you want but the truth is a part of you does care. It might be a really tiny part, but it's there. You don't like the idea of them thinking poorly of you. You don't like the idea of them whispering behind your back and making assumptions based on a story they only know a little bit about. It's scary. It makes you vulnerable. I think that people as a group hate feeling vulnerable the most. Out of all the emotions we have, the shitty and the good, we hate that one the most. People hate feeling exposed. People hate being in a position where they have no power. So that's why you care about what people think even when you say you don't. Words have power. That's what Dr. Hughes says. And when you tell someone your story, when they know the deepest part of you, their words have more power than yours do. You're vulnerable. And that's the worst feeling in the world.

We grab dinner after Dad picks us up. Dada's got a ton of grading to do (biochem had a test over protein structure and enzyme function) so he doesn't even give us the option of going in. That's okay, though, 'cause I don't really want to go into a restaurant and I know Al feels the same way. I just really wanna go home. I stare out the window, thinking nonstop like I always do. I can't help but wonder why I don't hate my house. I mean, that's where the abuse happened. I shouldn't like it there, nor should I feel safe there. But at the same time, that's where I lived when times were good. We've lived in that house my whole life. Mom took care of me there. Mom and Dad loved me there and Dada still loves me there. Al's there. Maybe that's why it's still safe for me. Even with my blood staining the floor (there are places that no matter how hard we scrub it just won't come up) and my story written on the walls, the people I care about the most either lived there or still live there. It's just weird. We love the house we were beaten in. I blink, realizing that's not quite true. We don't love the house we were beaten in. We love the house we were raised in. We love the house were our family started. We love the house where Al took his first steps and the house I said my first word in. We love the house, no the home, Mom and Dad made for us when we were little. We love that house. So yeah. We were beaten there, but that's not the whole story.

I sit up, realizing that I think a lot in terms of stories. Events are stories. They're sequences of people talking and doing things that come together to form a coherent narrative. The problem with events as stories, though, is that I don't always see all the sides. There are dozens of sides to every story. Everyone saw it differently; everyone remembers it differently. Like, when Al and I were little after Mom died and before she came around, Dad took us to Six Flags in Chicago. Not sure why. Can't remember. I think it was 'cause he got one-day tickets somehow. If you ask Al about it, he'll say, "We went to Six Flags?" Ask me and I'll tell you, "It was hot and I was mad the whole day 'cause I could only ride the little kid rides when I wanted to ride the big rollercoasters." Ask Dada and he'll tell you about a magical day where he spent all day with us. He'll tell you about how Al rode the Farris wheel and liked it despite being scared of it. He'll tell you about how we hugged all the characters and how much fun I had on those rides even though I claimed to hate them. See? Three sides, same event. Three separate stories but they're all talking about the same thing. People are strange, I think. I grin briefly, thinking about Six Flags. I haven't been to a theme park since then. Since she had us pegged as bad kids, we never got to go when we were invited. That and last year when Rose invited us both to go with her church group, we turned her down. Not because it's church kids but because of our anxiety. It prevents us from doing a lot of things we want to do. But if she asks again this summer, I'll say yes. I wanna go ride the rollercoasters and eat crappy food and feel like a kid again. So I'll say yes. And Al'll say yes too.

We get home and Al sets the table for three. But Dad says he's got too much to do to sit with us so he goes to his office. Al sighs sadly, staring at Dada's empty plate. He sits without moving it to the cabinet and plays with his food silently. I ask him what's wrong with my eyes and he doesn't answer. He shrugs, pushing food around with his fork. It's dark now, the sun completely gone. As I eat, I realize that next week's Thanksgiving break. I wish Dad's conference was next week so we could go with him and not have to go to Elric family Thanksgiving. Mom's whole family lives in Champaign-Urbana right next to the U of I. Every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter Dad forces us in the car and we go to visit the family we barley know. We know Nana Elric a bit but that's about it. Our cousins ignore us and so do our aunts and uncles. When they aren't ignoring us, they're teasing us and just being all around nasty people. But Dada insists because they're family. Whatever. Some family they are. When I lost my leg, we didn't get a single phone call from anyone. Nana Elric came to visit but that was it. No one else gave a damn. It's always been like that. Since Mom died, they've slowly drifted away from us. I think Dad likes going because they remind him of Mom for some reason. I couldn't tell you why, though. They're nothing like Mom. I turn my head and find that Al's gone and so's his plate. I stand and walk to the sliding glass door. Sure enough, he's sitting on the trampoline with a blanket, his plate in his lap. I shake my head and grab a hoodie. I slip it on and walk over, Al watching me.

"What are you doing?" I ask. Al shrugs.

"I don't know," he says. "Guess I wanted to look at the stars again."

"You okay?" I ask. Al shrugs again.

"I don't know," he says again. "Dada's going away the week after next. It ties my stomach in knots. I wish he'd eat with us so we can be with him before he leaves."

"You know," I say, hoisting myself on to the trampoline, "You could always eat in his office or do your homework in there." Al chuckles and takes a bite.

"I guess so," he replies after swallowing.

"So," I say, "Thanksgiving's next week." Al groans.

"Don't remind me," he complains. "I hate Elric family functions. None of them like us. They don't even like Dada. I don't know why we keep going to those things, especially after what happened at Easter. I doubt Uncle George has forgotten that I threw up all over his carpet because I was nervous."

"'That's new, Hohenheim!'" I cry, imitating our uncle's annoying nasal voice. "'You're gonna pay to have it steam cleaned!' What an asshole."

"Brother," Al sighs, "He might be one but he's Mom's brother."

"If he was really Mom's brother he'd be a little more chill about his nephew nervous puking on his freaking brand new carpet," I argue. "I mean, it's friggin' carpet! Who gives a damn? It's so dumb to care more about that than your dead sister's son!"

"I know," Al agrees.

"Remember when I was ten and I spilled Coke all over Nana Elric's lace table cloth?" I ask. Al smiles and nods.

"Yeah," he laughs. "I remember that everyone, even Dada, freaked out on you and you started crying. But Nana got them all to shut up and helped you calm down. I like Nana Elric. I wish she didn't live so far away."

"Me too," I agree. "She makes Elric family events tolerable. As tolerable as they freaking can be."

"I can't believe we hate Mom's family," Al chuckles. "Weird, isn't it?"  
"Not really," I say. "They hated us first."

"Why do they hate Dada so much, Brother?" Al asks.

"'Cause he 'took her away' from Urbana," I explain. "That's what I think, anyway. Mom was born and raised in Resembool, but they moved when she was a teenager. When Dada wanted to move here to be near Granny, they all flipped out. That's the way Dada tells it, anyway."

"Did they like him before they moved here?" Al asks.

"I don't know," I say. "Dada's family is German, though. Maybe they hate Germans."

"That's a dumb reason to hate Dad," Al points out. "What's left of his family lives in Chicago and are about as American as you can get."

"Maybe it's 'cause Dada's a Cubs fan and they're Cardinals fans," I laugh. There's this stupid rivalry in parts of Illinois and Missouri between Chicago Cubs fans and St. Louis Cardinals fans. Depending on where you live, it's taboo to like one of the teams. Social exile results in going against the grain and forget marrying into a Cubs-loving family if you're a Cardinals fan. Personally, I know the Cubs suck balls but I like their stadium and I like going to the games. But St. Louis is nice too so I like both. Because of that, I don't talk baseball at school 'cause you never know who likes which team and I've seen an actually fist fight break out over Cubs vs. Cardinals. People are dumb.

"Maybe," Al says. "I like both. It's okay to like both, I think."

"Tell that to Uncle George next week while you're handing him that check for the steam cleaner," I tease.

"Dada didn't really pay him for that, did he?" Al asks.

"Beats me," I reply. "All I know is Dada wasn't happy that Uncle George yelled at you." Al finishes his food and slips off the trampoline.

"Whatever," he says. "We'll just sit in the basement and ignore everyone like most years." I get off the trampoline to and nod.

"Sounds like a plan, baby brother," I reply. "What homework do you have tonight?"  
"Bio and math," Al answers. "I actually need Dada's help with the bio."

"Really?" I question. Al blushes and nods.

"Yeah," Al admits softly. "I just can't seem to get cellular respiration. I don't know why but it just doesn't make sense in my brain."

"Careful," I warn, walking back into the dining room. I grab my plate, walk into the kitchen, and continue, "He might go biochem on your ass."

"I know," Al laughs, "But he might not. He knows neither of us have the base we need to understand biochem 'cause neither of us have had any orgo."

"Don't sell yourself short," I tell him after throwing my plate in the sink. Al tosses his in too and I say, "You seem to get biochem more than I do."

"It's fascinating to me," Al says.

"Nerd," I tease. "You have all the amino acids memorized."

"Shut up," Al replies quickly. "It's not that weird. You've got properties of lots of elements memorized 'cause you're a nerd."

"Yeah, well, looking at the periodic table is a waste of my time when I can just memorize all that garbage," I tell him, grabbing my backpack. "Wanna do homework in Dada's office?"

"Sure," Al replies. "I need his help anyway." I nod and we walk to Dada's office I knock and wait for Dad to let us in.

"Come in, boys," he calls. We walk inside and I shut the door behind us. Dad turns in his chair and asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say. "We just wanted to do homework in here while you worked. Is that okay?"

"Sure, have a seat," Dada replies. "The floor's open and it's free." We chuckle at his lame joke and sit. We work for a while, Al doing his math with me before he moves on to bio. I help him a bit and he actually helps me a little and we get done in no time. He pulls out his biology and grimaces. I guess he really doesn't understand. It can be hard to keep track of all the ATP cellular respiration shits out. He stands and walks over to Dada and slides his homework toward him without speaking. I shake my head; typical Al.

"What's this, honey?" Dada asks.

"I don't understand," Al says. "Can you help me? I have a quiz on it tomorrow and I'm scared I'll fail."

"Al, you've never failed anything in your life," Dada chuckles. Al's lip trembles and Dad sighs. It's not time for jokes. He smiles and says, "Don't worry. I'll help you." Dada walks him through the process of cellular respiration gently, guiding Al's hand through the diagram in the textbook. I watch while trying to work on chemistry but can't focus. I don't know why, but jealousy is rising up in me as I watch Dada talk so soft and gentle to Al. I wish I didn't understand something so Dad could treat me that way. That's dumb but I can't change how I feel.

"So, how many ATP are produced during glycolysis?" Dada asks.

"Uh, two, I think," Al answers.

"That's right," Dad praises. "So if two are produced during glycolysis, two are produced during the Krebs' Cycle, and 32 are produced in the electron transport chain, how many total does cellular respiration produce?"

"36," Al answers.

"See, you get it," Dad encourages. "You'll be fine tomorrow. Try to fill the worksheet out by yourself." Al nods and sits down next to me. His tongue peeks out from behind his lips and I frown.

"Dada," I say, standing. "Can you, uh, help me balance this equation? I've tried a bunch but can't get it right." I just lied. I don't need his help. I've had it right for fifteen minutes and have completed all the problems out of the book. But for some reason, I'm craving Dad's attention. I'm jealous that Al got it and not me. So I lied. Dad nods and I grin.

"Come here," he instructs. "Let's see it." I walk over and Dad's brow furrows. "Let's see," he mumbles.

"I, uh, can't get the oxygen to balance out," I lie again.

"Well, let's count how many of each atom we have on each side, okay?" Dada offers.

"Yeah, okay," I reply.

"Can you tell me what we have on the reactants side, Ed?" Dad asks.

"Yeah," I say instantly. "Al2(SO4)3 and Ca(OH)2."

"Okay, so we have aluminum," Dada says, writing, "Sulfur, Oxygen, calcium, and hydrogen, right?"

"Right," I confirm.

"Then you tell me how much of each we have on either side and we'll go from there," Dada tells me, going back to grading. I write what he told me to, nudging him when I'm done. Dada looks over and smiles. "Good. Now, I'm sure you can handle it from here, right?"

"Uh, no," I lie.

"Ed," Dad whispers, "I know you have the right answer. If you want to spend time with me by yourself, we can do that. Right now, though, I have to work and you need to do your homework, okay?"

"But you walked Al through his!" I point out heatedly.

"Because Al didn't know how to do his homework," Dada says calmly. "But you do. Sweetie, you're good at chemistry and you enjoy it. Don't pretend to struggle because you want to spend time with me, okay? If you want to spend time with me, we'll arrange something, I promise." I nod. I grab my stuff and sit down next to Al, sulking. I hope he didn't hear that pathetic exchange. I know I'm not good at lying and that I shouldn't have lied to begin with but for some reason I wanted Dad to walk me through it. I don't know. Al glances over at me and asks with his eyes if I'm okay. I tell him I am and we go back to work.

"Hey, boys?" Dad asks. We look up at him at the same time.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Well, Lucy just texted me and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner with her on Friday," Dada explains. My heart stalls, my blood turning cold.

"R-Really?" I stammer. "Well, uh, that's…."

"That's a thing," Al says, obviously anxious too.

"Now, before you panic, I'm turning her down," Dad explains and I swear that I can hear a bit of disappointment in his voice. I know how much he likes Lucy. "What I was going to ask you is if you'd be okay with her coming over on Friday for dinner instead of me going out."

"Could we eat with you?" Al asks.

"I think that might defeat the purpose of a date, Al," Dad chuckles. "But I'll ask her. She probably will agree seeing as she wants to get to know you boys. What do you think, Brother?"

"Well, I think it's better than you going out," I tell him. I smirk and say, "But whatever you do, don't force her to drink that white wine in the fridge." Dad's brow furrows and he smiles.

"What would you know about wine, Ed?" He laughs.

"I had some," I tell him. "Not a lot, though. Just enough to know it tastes like butt." Dada laughs.

"Please don't try my alcohol again," he tells me lightly, "But you're right – that stuff is gross."

"Then why'd you buy it?" Al asks, laughing.

"It was a gift and I don't know what to do with it," Dad tells us. "And since I want Lucy to like me, I shouldn't have her drink the butt-wine."  
"Or you guys could try it and laugh at the faces you make as it goes down," I suggest. "It was funny watching Al's face turn sour when he had some."

"Al had some too?" Dada asks.

"Uh, yeah," Al replies. "I drank what Brother didn't. He didn't fill my cup very full so there wasn't much in there."

"You silly boys," Dad sighs. "What am I going to do with you?"

"What are you gonna cook?" Al asks.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet, to be honest," Dad admits.

"You could do what they do in movies where they order out but make it look like they cooked it," I say.

"That's so tacky," Dad laughs.

"Well, yeah, but you can't cook to save your life, so," I point out. It is cheesy as hell but the most Dada can cook is grilled cheese. I'm not even joking and he burns that half the time.

"I'll figure it out," Dad tells me. "So are you two giving me the okay?"

"Yup," I say. Al nods and Dada grins brightly.

"I'll text her back," Dad says happily, returning to grading. I ask Al with my eyes if he's okay with Lucy coming over for dinner. He says that he is. He says that he likes Lucy and wants Dada to be happy. That's how I feel. And Dad's sticking to his word. He said he was taking it slow and hadn't even asked her out yet. She asked him. And even though I'm still anxious about it, I do want Dad to be happy. So I'll be brave and let another woman into my life. That is, I'll do all that if she decides she actually likes Dada. That's still debatable, I think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note about "moving your stick". What Ed's talking about is a behavior chart used in pre-k and through kindergarten or even first grade in some schools. All it is is there's different levels and the green is the best place to be. But if you act up, the teacher will make you move a stick with your name on it (sometimes it's Velcro name tags or magnets or something else). When you move your stick, you're in trouble and usually won't get a green day which is just a slip of green paper with a smilie face on it that little kids give to their parents. When the kids move their stick, the teacher gives them a piece of paper that corresponds with where they moved their stick. Ed would have probably moved his to a yellow area which isn't phone call home or principal bad, but is get a note to show to your parents bad. It's just a way to keep track of kid's behavior. I realized as I edited this that not everyone would know what Ed was talking about but there wasn't a good spot for him to explain it, so I saved the explanation until the end of the chapter to clear up any confusion. See you guys next time!


	16. I'm a Bad Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a lil' nugget you ask? Just a small person. That's all so that means Ed's a lil' nugget too.

I wake up in Dada's bed for the second or third time this week. I don't know why, but the nightmares have been pretty bad recently. I stretch, groaning when I realize that the sheets are damp and it's nasty. I glance over and find Al curled in a ball next to me and guess he's the one who did it. Why? 'Cause I'm still pretty dry so it couldn't have been me. Besides, I peed like two hours ago so it can't be me. I don't really want to deal with it, though, so I put my leg on and get out of bed. I walk to my room and change before heading down stairs to tell Dada. He's in the kitchen, sipping coffee like every morning. I pour my cereal, Dad smiling at me as I sit down. I sit in silence for a moment before turning to look at him.

"Might wanna go upstairs and wake Al," I tell him. Dad checks his watch and frowns.

"He's got thirty minutes to sleep if he wants," Dada replies.

"Not 'cause he's late, Dada, but 'because he peed in your bed," I clarify through a mouth of cereal.

"Ah, I see," Dad says, standing. "Bad week for Al, huh?"

"Yeah," I reply. "I think he's nervous about Elric Thanksgiving next week."

"Perhaps," Dad agrees, "Al does seem to wet the bed more when he's stressed out."

"Yeah, he does," I say. "But it's not his fault."

"I know that," Dad assures me. "I'm not angry with him, promise."

"'Kay," I answer, staring at my cereal. Dad leaves and I sigh. Al's not the only one nervous about Elric Thanksgiving. I'm nervous too. All my relatives outside of Nana Elric are assholes. I don't have any baby cousins to make up for it, either. Everyone's a douche bag. I can't believe how poorly they treat us considering we're Mom's kids and husband. You'd think they'd be nice to us but they're not. I'm convinced it's 'cause Dada and Mom moved here after college but I could be wrong. Grown-ups are strange.

I take another bite and hear Dad's voice carrying down the stairs. I groan when I hear that he wants to get Al checked out again. He gets nervous whenever Al or me have bad sleeping weeks that something's physically wrong. I mean, he's not wrong. Her mix of chemicals she had us drink messed up our insides. I learned that two years ago when I allowed the police to take pictures and a doctor to give me a thorough check-up. It weakened some muscles and it made our stomachs really sensitive because it burned the lining of our digestive tract. We've gotten over a lot of the sensitivity though sometimes some foods still give us belly aches. Mexican really messes with us. But there's not a lot we can do about the muscles I don't think. I don't know, though, 'cause I wasn't exactly listening that day. If the doctor suggested ways to help those, I wouldn't know about 'em 'cause I wasn't really in the place to listen to his advice that day. Dad reenters the kitchen and checks his phone. His brow furrows and he sits down.

"Did Lucy cancel on you?" I tease. Dada shakes his head.

"It's from Sig," Dad begins. Instantly my palms begin sweating. Something's wrong with Teacher. Why else would Sig text this early in the morning?

"What?" I press anxiously.

"They have a foster kid in their house," Dada tells me. I relax a bit and Dad keeps reading, "He's a seven-year-old boy who comes from an abusive home. Got behavioral problems. Looks like he's been there for a day or two. Izumi and Sig have been so busy adjusting to having a child in their home full time they forgot to tell us."

"What's his name?" I ask.

"Didn't say," Dada answers. "Sig just called him The Little."

"Oh," I say.

"They've invited us over for dinner tonight, Ed, if you're interested," Dad says. "If you think you and Al can handle being around The Little."

"When was he rescued?" I ask.

"Sig said a few months ago but as you know it takes a while to realize you're truly not going to get hit anymore," Dada explains. I nod.

"I think we can handle the lil' nugget," I say. Al walks in all mopey and I look up at him. "Teacher and Sig have a lil' nugget in their house, Al." Al's brow furrows as he pours his cereal.

"What are you talking about?" Al questions.

"They have a foster child in their house," Dada clarifies. "They've invited us to dinner tonight."

"We can go, right?" Al asks, sitting his bowl down. He sits and says, "I know I was bad, but I'll be good all day, I swear."

"Alphonse, we've been over this," Dad sighs sadly. "You're not in trouble and you weren't bad. It happens, sweetie, it's okay."

"Then don't make me go to the doctor," Al says. "They'll just say what they always say. 'It'll get better in time'." Al shakes his head, takes a bite, and says, "That's crap if you ask me."

"Al, these things take time," Dada encourages. "You know that. And sometimes we need a little help. There's nothing to be ashamed of." Al scoffs and drops his spoon.

"Easy for you to say," Al grumbles, crossing his arms. "It's not you wetting the bed four nights a week." Al's grumpy today. He really didn't sleep well. I'm just glad he's not falling asleep at the table otherwise he'd probably fall asleep at school again.

"Alphonse, watch your tone," Dada warns. "Or you'll stay with Granny instead of going to Izumi's house." Al's eyes widen and he nods.

"Sorry," he says softly. "I'm just frustrated. Sometimes it feels like I'm not getting any better."

"I know, honey," Dad says. "But take it from someone seeing it from the outside, you really are. I'm proud of you, Al. Don't forget that." Al grins happily and his foul mood melts away. Al's so easy to cheer up. It's unreal. Picard meows from bellow the table and Al lifts him off the ground.

"Morning, Captain," I greet, Picard sitting happily on Al's lap.

"So we're going to Teacher's, then?" Al asks.

"If you want to," Dada tells me. "I haven't texted Sig back."

"We want to," I say, Al nodding along with me. "We wanna meet the Lil' Nugget." Dad grins.

"I'll tell Sig, then," Dad replies.

Like most days lately the school day flies by so fast I can't process that it happened. All I've been able to think about is the Lil' Nugget living in Teacher's house. I wonder what he's like. Dada said he's got behavioral problems but that could mean anything. It could mean he hoards things. It could mean he breaks things on purpose to get attention. It could mean he steals food. It could mean that he screams and kicks and cries so somebody will notice him. It could mean he sleepwalks or wets the bed. It could mean a lot of things. I know because I too was once the kid with behavior problems. Since I had Dada, mine never spiraled out of control but for a lot of kids they do. Most abused kids don't have a dad who loves them. They usually don't have anyone to turn to so their behavior just gets worse and worse 'cause nobody wants them. I can't imagine what it's like to be a foster kid. I'm so lucky I wasn't. Being a foster kid sounds awful. They make you put your stuff in trash bags when you move homes. How hard is it to have luggage in your car to let a kid borrow? I mean seriously! Don't they realize those kids already feel like trash? You don't need to make it worse by putting their stuff in a trash bag.

I meet Al by my locker and we walk outside with Winry. I tell her we're going to Teacher's house 'cause she has a Lil' Nugget in her house now. Winry thinks it's great that Teacher's a foster parent and hopes that one day she can meet the Lil' Nugget too. Dada pulls up and we wave good-bye to Winry. We get in the car and Dad asks us how our day was as he drive to Teacher's house. I tell him it was fine which is kinda lying since I actually don't remember it. He asks Al and Al says his was fine too. He had that quiz in bio but thinks it went okay. But he won't know until Monday so he as all weekend to worry about it. Dada tells him not to worry; that he did fine. Al shrugs and I know he doesn't believe him. Anxiety does that to you. It makes liars out of the people you can trust most. Boy, does that suck, let me tell you. We make it to Teacher's house and Dad reminds us to be patient with the Lil' Nugget. We both say we will. We understand the Nugget. We know what he's been through. We know that his life sucks right now. We know 'cause we've been there. He was us two years ago. We get out of the car and ring the doorbell. Sig appears just seconds later with a smile on his face.

"Boys," he greets warmly, ruffling our hair. "Mr. Elric. Come on in." We do, Al fighting for more attention. Sig grins at him and gives him a big hug, telling him how happy he is to see us. He hugs me when he's done with Al and when the hug ends he says he'll go get Teacher and the Nugget. We sit and wait, anxiety clawing at my belly. I'm not really scared to meet the Nugget. I'm just nervous about what he might say and how he'll change my relationship with Teacher and Sig. Is that selfish? Probably. I just don't want my relationship with them to change. For four years they took care of me. They took care of Al so I wouldn't have to all the time. They treated me like I was their son and I'll never forget how kind they were to me. If Lil' Nugget changes all that, well, I don't know what I'll do.

"Hey, boys." I look up and see Teacher. She looks tired. I bet she is. Having kids isn't easy and she's a first-time mom now. Behind her is the Lil' Nugget. He peeks out from behind her, big blue eyes scanning us. I smile weakly at him and he sticks his tongue out at me. Typical. He's got shiny black hair and pale skin and he's a skinny little thing. He really is a Lil' Nugget. Teacher guides him over and says, "Wyatt, this is Edward, Alphonse, and their father, Mr. Elric. I told you about them earlier, remember?" Wyatt's brow furrows and he nods.

"They came over to meet you and have dinner with us," Sig explains. "They're a part of our family."

"They don' look like you," Wyatt points out loudly. "You can' be family if you don' look the same."

"That's not quite true, Wyatt," Teacher says softly. She's using that voice she always used with Al and me when we were freaked out. It calms me down a bit; helps my heart to beat normally again. "These boys are family to me."

"Which one's which?" Wyatt asks curiously.

"Well," Teacher begins, "The boy sitting next to Sig is Edward. He's fifteen." Teacher points at Al and says, "That's Alphonse. He's fourteen." Wyatt finally moves out from behind Teacher and examines us both.

"They're small," he says.

"And you're a Lil' Nugget," I counter. Wyatt blinks at me in confusion before a smile spreads across his face.

"You're funny!" He cries. "Funny!"

"Brother is funny, isn't he?" Al chuckles.

"Funny!" Wyatt says again. "Edward's funny!"

"You can call me Ed, Nugget," I tell him.

"And you can call me Al, if you want," Al adds. Wyatt nods.

"Your name's stupid and hard to say," Wyatt says to Al. "So I'll just call you Al." Al's face falls and I give Wyatt a sharp look.

"Watch it, Nugget," I say. "Don't make fun of Al's name."

"But it's dumb," Wyatt protests. Al sniffles and I glare at him. Lil' Nugget's a brat. I get why, but still. I wasn't a brat when I was rescued. I was a lot of things, granted, but a brat was not one of them. "His name's so dumb," Wyatt sings. "Dumb, dumb, dumb. I bet he's dumb too."

"That's enough, Wyatt," Teacher scolds. She walks over to Al and pets his hair. He's fighting tears but isn't doing a good job. He wipes his face and Teacher gently says, "It's alright, Al. He doesn't mean any harm. You know that." Al nods but can't seem to stop crying.

"What a baby," Wyatt teases. Sig stands and Wyatt yelps. He darts off and says, "Al's a big dumb baby!"

"Wyatt," Sig calls, Wyatt running off. He turns to Dada and says, "Sorry. He's still adjusting."

"Yes, I know," Dad says as Al cries harder.

"Lil' Nugget's a brat," I say without thinking. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I'm expecting a lecture. To my surprise, though, Teacher nods.

"Yes," she agrees, still trying to comfort Al, "He is. That's just his way of telling us he needs love, Ed. You had your ways and he has is." I blink and nod.

"I guess that's true," I reply. "But still – he shouldn't make Al cry!"

"You're right," Teacher agrees again. "And I'll show him love in a little while by disciplining him in a way that won't frighten him."

"That's harder than it sounds," Dada sighs, watching Teacher comfort Al. "Even standing in the corner made Ed and Al panic. I don't know why." My heart beats funny and I look away. Really wish Dada wouldn't talk about it. Why's he talking about it?

"It's 'cause we're bad," Al says miserably, unable to stop crying. "That's why we hated it." I open my mouth to protest but Teacher beats me.

"Come now, Alphonse," she says gently, "You're not bad. You've never been. You and Ed are good kids. What happened isn't your fault." Al doesn't say anything and before I can stop myself I'm speaking.

"It's 'cause she made us stand in front of the mirror in our room and say we were bad over and over," I explain. I cover my mouth, eyes widening 'cause I just accidently gave away part of the abuse. Everyone stares at me and Al chokes. He nods, snot running down his face as he cries even harder.

"She did what?" Dada questions. For some reason, even though I've broken so many taboos and personal rules, I keep talking.

"We had to say 'I'm a bad boy' over and over while staring into the mirror," I say. "If we didn't, she'd smash our faces into the mirror until we did." Dad's staring at me and I stand. "I'm sorry," I say. Al looks up at me and I shake my head. "Sorry." I hurry out of the room, my chest heaving. Oh, man. I said too much. I said way too much. I can't breathe. I'm wheezing. I get to Teacher's bathroom and go in. I lock the door and bend over the sink. I don't mean to, but I throw up in it, unable to calm down. My chest is tight. I'm all shaky. I said too much. I wasn't supposed to. I'm gonna get in trouble! I said too much! I raise my head, my reflection staring at me.

"Say it."

"I…." I like my lips, her voice taunting my inside my head.

"Say it, you little shit."

"I'm a bad boy," I say softly. I take a haggard breath and start crying loudly. "I'm a bad boy." I guess I really can't run from it. It's so ingrained in me. Even when I don't say it out loud, I think it every time I look in a mirror. It repeats itself over and over again in my head.

"Say it."

"I… I'm a bad boy." I wish I was strong enough to tell her voice to shut up. But I'm not. I never have been.

"Edward?"

My heart stops beating for a second. I turn to the door, my whole body quivering. "Dada?"

"Ed, please come out," Dad says gently. "It's okay. You didn't do anything wrong." My lip trembles and I shake my head.

"Yes, I did!" I argue pathetically. "I told you! I'm n-not s-supposed to t-tell you!"

"Honey, it's over now," Dada tells me. "It's okay to tell me things." I shake my head. I want to believe him. I really do. But I can't. Seven years of threats and beatings are stronger than Dada's kind words and gentle voice. They always have been. I back up, my back hitting the wall. I slide down it, unable to contain myself.

"I-I'm never gonna get better!" I wail loudly.

"Edward, baby, that's not true," Dada says through the door. "You're getting better every day. You really are."  
"N-No, I'm n-not!" I argue.

"Ed, can you let Dada in?" Dad asks. "I want to help you, honey." He's talking to me like I'm a little kid. I'm not mad, though. It's actually helping to calm me down. I snivel pathetically and unlock the door. Dada comes in, ignores the puke in the sink, and sits down next to me. He pets my hair and I keep crying like a big dumb baby. Al's not the big dumb baby; I am.

"You're okay," Dada coos as I lay my head on his shoulder. "You're okay. Daddy's here. Daddy's got you." I shut my eyes and curl in closer to him. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me on to his lap. I rest my head on his chest, wishing that I could believe him.

"How's Al?" I ask after a few minutes. Dad chuckles and kisses my hair.

"You're having an anxiety attack and all you care about is Al," Dada comments lightly. "Don't worry about him, honey. Izumi got him calm."

"Good," I say. Of course all I care about is Al. He needs me and I wasn't there. I was having my how meltdown because I'm a big baby. I glance up at Dada and blush. "Sorry," I say softly. "Sorry that I'm such a baby. I don't mean to be."

"Oh, Ed," Dada sighs. "You're not a baby. You're my baby, but that's different. You've just been through some things that no child should ever have to go through. That's not your fault." I don't say anything. I don't have any words to reply with. Dada must sense that 'cause he says, "Sig's making dinner if you want to help him." I nod then groan. "What?"

"I threw up in the sink," I explain. "I need to clean it up."

"No, honey, you don't," Dad tells me. "We'll tell Izumi and someone will take care of it." I bite my tongue. I want to protest but I decide not to. Dad stands and takes my hand. He pulls me to my feet and gives me a hug. "You're not a bad boy," Dada whispers. I whimper and lower my face into his shoulder. I don't want to cry again but I feel that dumb lump in throat. Dad doesn't understand. Words have power. And for seven years I was told that I was. I was forced to say it over and over again. It's ingrained in me. Whenever I look at myself, whenever I screw up, my brain jumps there. It always does. There's nothing I can do about it. That's why I feel like I'm not getting better; because no matter how hard I try or what habits I break or how good my anxiety is, I still think those four awful words every time I see my reflection. I choke and try to hold back a sob.

"But I am," I say. "I am." Good for nothing. Waste of space. A little shit.

"Say it."

I don't want to. Don't make me say it. I grip on to Dada tighter and bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Worthless brat. Fuck up. A bad boy. That's what I am. That's all I'll ever be. But I don't want to say it. I don't want to be those things. I want to be someone Dada can be proud of.

"He'll never be proud of you, you little shit. You're just his fucked up son. That's all you'll ever be. Say it."

No. I won't say it. She's not here. She can't force me to. Not anymore. Dada pets my hair and I sigh. I'm safe in Dada's arms. Dada will protect me from her words. He won't make me say it.

"You okay?" Dada asks. I pull away and wipe my face.

"Yeah," I reply with a nod. Dad smiles at me and leans forward. He kisses my cheek, his beard tickling my face. I laugh softly, Dad taking my hand.

"Do you want to help Sig still?" Dad asks me.

"Yup," I say. "Al does too, I bet." Dada chuckles and he nods. We get to the living room, Al standing instantly.

"Brother!" He cries. He hurries over to me and hugs me. I laugh lightly and return the hug, resting my head on his.

"You okay, Ally?" I ask softly.

"Yeah," Al says, pulling away. "You?" I grin at him and nod.

"Yup," I chirp. "Wanna help Sig in the kitchen?"

"Sure," Al replies, taking my hand.

"Hold on, boys," Teacher says. I turn and see that Wyatt is pouting behind her. She pushes him forward and says, "Wyatt has something he'd like to say to Al." Wyatt stomps over and stops a few inches from Al.

"Sorry," he spits. Al smiles and squats down.

"That's okay," he replies cheerfully. "My name is kinda dumb, isn't it?" Wyatt looks up at him, obviously confused by Al's answer.

"Yeah," Wyatt agrees. "It is."

"I've actually always hated my name," Al tells him. "Thought it was dumb my whole life and kids have always teased me for it."

"That's not nice," Wyatt points out.

"No, it's not," Al says. "But lately I've decided that I like my name."  
"How come?" Wyatt asks and I smile. Al's good with little kids. I don't know what it is about him, but damn he's good.

"'Cause my Mom liked it," Al answers. "She liked it so much that she gave it to me to carry for her. I think that's pretty neat, don't you?" Wyatt grins.

"Yeah," he says. Al ruffles Wyatt's hair and stand. Wyatt grabs Al's arm and dangles there for a second before letting go.

"Go ahead and help Sig, boys," Dada says. "I'll be right here."

"'Kay, Dada," I reply. I take Al's hand again and we walk in, Wyatt following in after us.

Al and I help Sig in the kitchen and soon dinner's ready. We all eat together and Dad asks if we'd like to stay and play with Wyatt for a bit. We both say yes and Dad grins. We talk a little about school and Wyatt asks us all sorts of questions. He asks us what high school's like, if we have pets, and what movies we like. We answer them all and he starts talking about his favorite things. I can tell this poor kid's been starved of love his whole life. He talks and talks and talks because for the first time in his life people actually care about what he has to say. He seems to like Al and me which is good 'cause I was scared he wouldn't. Once everyone's done with dinner, we help clear the table and Wyatt takes us up to his room. Teacher must have bought him toys 'cause they're scattered all over the room. He shows us each one before we ask him what he wants to play with. He picks LEGOs then action figures and then he just wants to be chased. Al's still feeling kinda fatigued after being sick and having a concussion so he gets worn out pretty quick. He falls asleep on the floor, Chico underneath him, leaving me and the Lil' Nugget alone. But soon the Nugget falls asleep and I'm sitting in his room practically alone. I sigh, ruffle Al's hair and stand. I should tell Dada that Al's asleep so we can go home. Need to get home before Al has an accident or something. Don't want to freak Wyatt out by Al screaming in terror during a nightmare. I walk to the living room and can hear Dad talking with Izumi and Sig. I pause, my brow furrowing as I get closer.

"Have you taken them to a doctor?" Izumi asked.

"I've tried but they're both too embarrassed," Dad replies. "That and I think they're scared I'm punishing them when I'm not. It's just a lot of laundry, you know?" My heart begins beating funny and I sweat nervously. Why is he talking about that to them? Doesn't he know that's secret?

"I thought they would have outgrown it by now," Sig comments.

"You'd think," Dada sighs. "I worry about them so much. They're getting better but at the same time…. I don't know." I back up, my breathing hitching. It's like everything I've feared for the last two years has come true. Dada doesn't think we're getting better. "…. Seems like they haven't made substantial progress since starting therapy sometimes," Dada goes on as I begin wheezing. "They still have frequent nightmares and it's worse now than it was two years ago I think. Their anxiety has been a rollercoaster and lately it's been terrible. They both can barely function recently because it's so bad and Al needs Chico constantly lately. They're still convinced they're bad kids. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Well, Dad, that makes two of us. I slouch over, trying to breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my…. Fuck it. I can't. I can't breathe. Dada doesn't think we're getting better. He's disappointed even though we're trying. We're trying so hard. We really are. But he doesn't think so. I back up, my back hitting a table with some glasses on it. They clang together, alerting them to my presence. They all look up at me, Dad's brow furrowing.

"Ed? Is something wrong?" He asks worriedly. I swallow, unable to respond. The bubbles won't let me. I shake my head, my whole body trembling.

"Ed, come here," Teacher instructs gently. I shake my head again. I'm not going over there, not after what I just heard.

"I-I…." I struggle. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Ed?" Dad asks.

"I'm sorry," I say again. "I'm trying, really! I'm trying to get better!" Dad's eyes widen and he looks guiltily at me.

"You heard that?" I nod. Dad walks over and without speaking wraps his arms around me. "I'm sorry, Ed. I'm overwhelmed right now just like you are. You and Al have made a lot of progress the last two years and I'm sorry I said what I said. I just don't know how to help you better. I'm so proud, Ed." I don't say anything. How can I? I don't know what I'm supposed to believe. Do I believe the Dada who doesn't think we've gotten any better or do I believe the Dada who says we are? I don't know.

"It can't be both," I tell him, pulling away. "Either we've made progress or we haven't. It can't be both." Dad nods.

"You're right, Ed," he agrees. "It can't be both."

"Before you walked in, Ed, your father was just saying how proud he is of both of you," Teacher explains. "Sig and I are feeling overwhelmed with Wyatt and it was comforting to know that your dad has the same fears even two years after the abuse ended for you two. You boys have done so well the last two years and we're all so proud of you." I grin, tears in my eyes.

"Thanks," I say, wiping them with my arm. "You don't know how much that means to me." Dada kisses my forehead and I laugh as his beard brushes up against my face.

"I love you so very much, Ed," Dad tells me. "And I'm so proud of everything you and Al have accomplished these last two years. You boys mean the world to me."

"Oh!" I say loudly, remembering why I went to find Dada in the first place, "Al fell asleep, Dada. We should probably go."

"Is he still feeling tired?" Teacher asks.

"Yes," Dada replies. "Most of his concussion symptoms are gone but he's struggling with fatigue and dizziness and memory still. Like sometimes he can't remember things you tell him or what homework he has. But he's slowly getting better."

"That's good," Teacher hums. "I was worried about him." Dada nods.

"We all were," he says, walking down the hall. I follow him and Dad opens the door to Wyatt's room. They're both still asleep with no signs of distress. Dada smiles fondly and scoops up Al. Guess he doesn't want to wake him. He kisses Al's face and he stirs.

"Dada?" Al asks softly.

"Go back to sleep, Al," Dada instructs gently. "I've got you." Al nods and shuts his eyes again. He carries him out of the room and I follow them.

"Thanks for having us," I tell Teacher and Sig. They both hug me tight and I almost don't want to let go. But Lil' Nugget needs them more than I do. So I let them both go.

"Love you, Ed," Teacher tells me. I smile weakly.

"Love you too," I reply.

"Thanks again," Dad says. They both nod and we leave. Dad carries Al to the car and when we get home he carries him inside. He tucks Al in and I can tell he hopes that we can actually sleep tonight. I hope so too. I'm sick of not being able to sleep. It would be nice if just one night, one freaking night, I could sleep.


	17. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa Hoho has a date. Although, is it a date if your sons are in attendance?

Pancake breakfast. It happens every Monday and every Friday and in the morning I'm almost surprised by it still. Especially on Friday, though I'm not sure why. Maybe it's 'cause I'm so shocked that it's Friday. That means the week flew by and I barely remember any of it. That's probably it. Like every Friday we got to our IHOP and get seated in our booth. We order our pancakes and eat and get to school like every other Friday. And this afternoon we'll go to therapy. But tonight is when things get scary. Tonight Lucy comes over. Dada decided to buy dinner and serve it at home but not try to convince her that he can cook 'cause that's freaking tacky. So he's gonna be up front about it. I think that's the best way to approach most things, actually. I like it when people are upfront about things. You know – like feelings and shit. Keeps everything clear. Doesn't leave room for much confusion. Honesty; it's something Mom always said was important. Since Mom said it was important, I take it really seriously. It's one of the few ties to Mom I actually have left.

At the end of the school day I meet Al like always. He smiles at me and tells me with his eyes he's nervous about Lucy coming over. I tell him I am too. Lucy seems nice, but we've been wrong about that before. Being wrong nearly killed us so we're not really in the place where we can take that risk. But Dada's a person and people have needs. He wants, no, needs a wife so we're stuck. We have to let Lucy in. And if it's not Lucy it'll be somebody else. That's just the way it is. Dad arrives and we get in the car. He's smiling like a kid on Christmas but it does little to calm me down. I'm breathing funny 'cause I'm anxious. What if Lucy doesn't like us? What if she stays the night? What if she yells at us 'cause we wake up screaming? What if Dada lets something slip about our past at dinner? I can't handle that. I can't. I look at Al through the rearview mirror and can tell he's thinking all the same things. How could he not? I don't have anything to tell him, though, so I face forward silently until we get to the office.

We get to the office and Dad checks us in. I twist the fabric of my shirt in my hands anxiously, Al shaking beside me. Dada can tell we're freaked out but doesn't have anything to say. He knows why. He knows it's cause Lucy's coming over. He's just hoping Dr. Hughes will take care of it so he doesn't have to. That sounds terrible but it's true. Dada loves us and is good at making us feel safe. But he's not in tune with his emotions and isn't good at walking us through how we feel. That's Dr. Hughes' job and Dr. Hughes does it well. So yeah. Dad feels bad that we're anxious but can't fix it so he won't even try. Dr. Hughes calls us back and I stand. I take Al's trembling hand in mine and guide him back to Dr. Hughes' office. He smiles at us and I grin weakly at him. We sit down, Al clutching Chico in one hand and my hand in the other. Dr. Hughes sits down in front of us and I know he knows we're stressed.

"What's going on, boys? Something you want to talk about?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Lucy's coming over," I tell him. "It's got us all sorts of freaked out."

"Can you explain why, Ed?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"She…." I trail off, unsure of where to begin. I have so many feelings about it that they get all tangled up and I can't make sense of them.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Al asks pathetically. "What if she yells at us or hates us 'cause we're…." Al quickly stops talking and lowers his head.

"Why is she coming over?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"For dinner," I say. "She likes Dada, I guess. I don't know. I know Dada likes her."

"So after dinner, what do you think will happen?" Dr. Hughes asks me.

"I don't know," I admit. "She might leave but she might also stay the night. If she does, she'll definitely hate us."

"Why do you think that?" Dr. Hughes questions.

"'Cause we're loud," I say.

"And messy," Al goes on.

"We cry at night," I add.

"We have night terrors," Al says.

"We end up in Dada's bed a lot," I say.

"We… I wet the bed a lot," Al says softly.

"Me too," I say, shame in my voice. "I mean, who'd want to date a guy with a fifteen-year-old son who still wets the bed? Who'd want to date a guy with kids who cry all the time and keep you up? Who'd want to join a family with me in it?"

"Edward," Dr. Hughes begins, "Your father promised to take the dating thing slow. I don't think Lucy will be spending the night any time soon."

"But when she does she'll hate us!" Al cries. "Or when Dada tells her everything she'll hate us then!"

"Why does it always end in hate, boys?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"'Cause we're bad," Al says miserably, his lip trembling. "How could she not hate me? There's nothing good about me. She's not gonna like me and then she'll leave Dada and Dada will be alone forever 'cause of me."

"Al, there are so many good things about you," Dr. Hughes says. Al shakes his head and Dr. Hughes says, "I have an idea." He stands up and I wonder what he's doing. He grabs some paper and some Sharpies and sits down again. He hands each of us a Sharpie and slides over a piece of paper to each of us.

"Art therapy?" I ask. We haven't done that in a while. I always liked it but Dr. Hughes thought we were ready for talking. I'm okay with drawing, though, if he'll let me.

"If you want we can do that in a minute," Dr. Hughes tells me. "First, I want to you to write ten good things about your brother on that piece of paper. Let me know when you're both done." Only ten? I smirk and try to pick the best of the best things about Al. It's hard to narrow it down to ten but I manage. I look up at Dr. Hughes when I'm done and we wait for Al to finish. When Al puts his marker down Dr. Hughes says,

"You guys done?" We both nod and Dr. Hughes says, "Ed, read what you wrote about Al."

"Okay," I say. "Gotta warn you though – it was hard picking just ten things." Al grins and I begin to read; "Al's the nicest person I've ever met. Al knows how to make me laugh when I'm upset. Al cares so much about everything. Al is fun to be around and is fun to play with. Al is good with kids. Al is forgiving. Al gives the best hugs out of anyone I know. Al volunteers at the animal shelter because he believes in what it stands for. Al is smart and does well in school. Al is a good boy." Al blinks at me, his lip quivering.

"You really think all those things?" Al asks with a strained voice. I nod and Al walks over to me. He wraps his arms around me and I pet his hair.

"See, Al? Ed thinks there's lots to like about you. He even had a hard time picking what he wanted to say because there's so much good in you." Dr. Hughes says. Al pulls away and looks at his list.

"Can I say what's good about Brother now?" Al asks.

"Go for it," Dr. Hughes replies.

"Okay, here it goes," Al says. "Ed is brave and strong. Ed keeps me safe. Ed tells the best stories. Ed is really funny and can make everyone laugh. Brother is smart and good at chemistry. Ed takes care of me, even when he's tired. Brother is good at video games, even if he's a sore loser. Ed is a good boy. Ed is good at martial arts. Actually, Brother's just good at anything he tries. I know I was only supposed to do ten, but I wrote one more thing – Ed can do anything he sets his mind to." There's a lump in my throat but not because I'm sad. I'm not sure what I am, but it's not sad.

"Thanks, Al," I manage to say. "You don't know what that means to me."

"Now, switch papers with your brother," Dr. Hughes instructs. We switch and now I'm holding Al's list of things he likes best about me. I stare at eight in disbelief, almost. Al thinks I'm a good boy? My brow furrows. Dada thinks that, too. So does Teacher. I think Mr. Hughes probably thinks that I'm a good boy. So then…. Am I? Can I be? I don't know. I glance over at Al and guess he's thinking all the same things I am. I wrote that he's a good boy. He probably has a hard time believing that, even if it comes from me.

"Okay," Dr. Hughes says, pulling me out of my thoughts, "I want you to keep that little list your brother wrote. I want you to keep it and whenever you're feeling low about yourself, try to remember how your brother sees you." We both nod.

"I wanna paint," Al says. "Can we? I miss painting."

"Of course we can," Dr. Hughes tells him with a smile. "You boys respond so well to art therapy." He stands and goes to get the stuff we need for art therapy. I turn to look at Al who's got the biggest smile on his face.

"What?" I chuckle, thinking he's happy because we get to paint.

"You think I'm a good boy," he hums happily. I smile fondly at him (I think it probably looks like a dad smile) and nod.

"Always have, Ally," I reply.

"Love you, Brother," Al says quietly.

"Love you, too."

We painted the rest of therapy. I guess Dr. Hughes didn't realize how much we liked art therapy so he says we can do it more often if we want. We both say that we'd like to do it more and Dr. Hughes says he'll keep that in mind. Al likes painting and clay best while I just like drawing. I'm shit at it, but I like it. When I was thirteen, I colored a lot in therapy. Dr. Hughes says that I had a lot of feelings and that's what I colored. Most of it was just blobs of color but sometimes I drew stuff. I suck at it and would get frustrated when my pictures were ugly but Dr. Hughes told me that we don't have to be good at something to like doing it. So I kept drawing, even though I suck. It's embarrassing to be fifteen and to like to color. I have a lot of coloring books that I'll scribble in when I feel down or feel like I want to hurt myself. Even though I'm not in the low place anymore, sometimes I still feel like hurting myself like I did when I was in the low place. Whenever I feel that way, I scribble in a coloring book and I feel better. But I can't tell anyone that. I can't tell anyone that I like coloring. They'd laugh at me. They wouldn't understand.

We finish our pictures and therapy ends. Dr. Hughes walks us out like normal and Al hands Dada a painting of Picard he made. It's actually pretty good, I think. Like, it's not clumpy or runny or anything. And it does look like Picard. Dad kisses his cheek and thanks him for the painting. I don't have a picture for Dad so I just show him what I colored. It's blobby and red and black and I don't know why I even showed him. It's not pretty like Al's painting but I like it. I like it 'cause when I colored it, a lot of the anxiety I was feeling about Lucy coming over went away. So yeah. I don't know. We get to the car and Dada tells us what he's picking up for dinner. He went with Red Lobster – an obvious choice if you ask me. A fancy place like that is guaranteed to get a girl to like you. Girls like food, though they act like they don't sometimes. Like, Winry can eat. She can eat more than me sometimes. And damn she likes food. Every time Al and me go to her house she's eating. So if Lucy's on the fence about liking Dada, those cheddar biscuits will push her to the liking side of the fence.

Dad picks up dinner and we get home. Al asks if dinner is fancy attire and Dad chuckles at him. He says no, it's not, and that jeans and a hoodie are fine. Picard sits on Al's lap as Dada sets everything up in the kitchen and we wait for Lucy to arrive. The cat's helping him calm down and I'm even more glad that we adopted Picard than I already was. Picard is just what Al needs sometimes to feel calm. I actually think that he should be a therapy pet so Al can just keep Picard with him all the time but I haven't brought it up. Al's feelings might get hurt if I do 'cause that might make him think we don't think he's getting better. I can see where he'd get that from, too. He's been in therapy for two years. If we suggested a therapy pet now, it might seem like he hasn't gotten any better which isn't true. Al's anxiety, even though it's still terrible, is much better than it was when it all ended two years ago. Two years ago, Al could barely leave the house. He was homeschooled for six months and never went to Winry's. He just stayed at home and forgot to do things like shower or eat or brush his teeth or sometimes even go to the bathroom. He's better now, though. He hardly ever forgets to take care of himself and he can leave the house now. So he might take the whole Picard-as-a-therapy-pet-thing the wrong way. The doorbell rings and pulls me out of my thoughts. Al's shaking, Picard running off 'cause he's scared of strangers. Al puts Chico under his arm, waiting for Dada to answer the door.

"Ed, can you let her in?"

My blood freezes but I nod. "Yeah," I call, "Okay." I stand up, Al watching me as I walk to the door. My heart is pounding but I need to let her in. She won't hit me. She won't hurt me. She won't yell at me. I take a deep breath and open the door.

"Ed!" She cries happily. "How are you, buddy? It's been a couple weeks since I've seen you last!" I step aside to let Lucy in. She doesn't wait for me to answer her question before saying, "You have a lovely home. It's so big! Must be empty with just the three of you and a cat, huh?" I nod. The bubbles have trapped my words so there's no way I can reply right now. I gesture to the sofa and Lucy sits down. She grins brightly at Al and says, "Hi, Al. How are you?" Al smiles weakly but says nothing.

"Lucy," Dada greets, walking in. She smiles at him and Dad sits on the arm of the sofa. "Boys talking your ear off?"

"No," Lucy laughs. "They're very quiet for a pair of teenage boys." Well, we're not typical teenage boys. But she wouldn't know that.

"Well, they can be," Dad says. "They can get loud, especially when they're playing video games and Ed's loosing."

"Sore loser, huh?" She asks me. I nod, still unable to speak.

"Well, dinner's ready," Dad tells her. "And by ready I mean it's warm and on plates. I can't cook to save my life."

"So, which chef prepared our meal, then?" Lucy chuckles. "Chef Edward or Chef Alphonse?"  
"Try Chef Red Lobster," Dada answers with a laugh. "You don't mind the boys eating with us, do you?"

"Well, the whole point of me coming over was to get to know them," Lucy says. "Of course I don't mind."

"Hear that, boys?" Dada asks, obviously picking up on our anxiety, "Lucy says she wants to eat with you. You hungry?" Al nods and Dada asks, "What about you, Brother?" I nod too, though I mostly feel like I'm gonna throw up. Oh, God. What if I throw up? What if I throw up all over the table or worse – all over Lucy? What if Al throws up? What if we both throw up? I shake my head and try to swallow the puke. I just wanna eat my seafood bake. I don't wanna throw up. We walk into the dining room and the table's all set. Dada put out two glasses of red wine for him and Lucy, milk for Al, and juice for me. Guess he knew that I didn't need any caffeine. I sit down next to Al and wait for the adults to sit. They sit down and we sit too, looking at our food anxiously. When is it okay to start eating? When she was around, if we ate before it was okay to, before we had permission, we'd regret it. Lucy and Dad are talking about school and start eating. I guess it's okay for me to start eating so I do. Al pushes food around on his plate, Chico resting on his lap. Lucy's eyes drift to Chico occasionally but she never asks. She never asks about the stuffed cat a fourteen-year-old boy is carrying around. I'm glad she doesn't. If she did, Al would throw up for sure.

"What are your plans for Thanksgiving, Victor?" Lucy asks. Dad takes a sip of his wine before answering.

"Well, every Thanksgiving I take the boys to Champaign-Urbana to visit Trisha's family," Dada explains. I suddenly feel sick again. Why Elric family Thanksgiving? Why? I'm so anxious about that and I'm anxious about this so it's like double anxiety. My hands are shaking so I stop eating. I'm gonna barf. Oh, God, I'm gonna barf.

"Really?" Lucy questions. "You don't go to Chicago?"

"Not really," Dad replies. "The boys don't really know the von Hohenheim side of the family and I don't want to make them nervous." Oh, Dada, you're making us nervous right now. I slide my eyes over to Al who's green. Okay. I'm not gonna barf; Al is.

"Dada," I squeak, but I guess he doesn't hear me.

"I didn't realize Trisha was from Urbana," Lucy says.

"Oh, she's not," Dada says as Al gags. Dad's brow furrows and he says, "Al?" Al stands up and leaves, but I can hear him puking in the hallway.

"Oh, dear," Lucy says. "Did the food make him sick?"

"Don't think so," Dad replies, looking at me. I can tell he knows why Al's puking but isn't gonna tell Lucy. He'll blame it on something else; "A couple weeks ago Al hit his head," Dada explains, "He got a concussion and while most of the symptoms are gone, he gets dizzy sometimes and throws up."

"Dada," I manage, "I can help him."

"No, Ed, you eat," Dada instructs. "Al might need me to carry him to bed."

"I can carry him," I argue. I want to take care of Al. I want to get out of the dining room. I don't want to sit at the table alone with Lucy while Dad does my job.

"Edward, let me handle it," Dad tells me. He walks out and I stare at my food.

"So, Edward," Lucy begins awkwardly, "Um, you're a freshman?"

"Uh, s-sophomore," I answer, my voice shaking.

"Oh, right," she says like she knew that. She probably did. "Do you drive?"

"No," I say. "I have the book but I don't have my permit." I push food around with my fork and Lucy sighs.

"I'm really no good with kids," she tells me. "Never have been. I like them but I don't know how to talk to them." That sounds like Dada. I glance up at her and she says, "How am I doing, really? I like your dad and you and your brother are part of the package. I don't want to make you and your brother uncomfortable but I'd like to get to know you."

"Uh," I vocalize. I'm honestly not sure how I should answer her. Lucy's fine except that she's not. She makes me uncomfortable but not 'cause she's mean or awkward or doesn't know how to talk to me. I'm just scared of the future. I'm scared of her getting to close. I'm scared of getting hurt again. But I can't tell her any of that. Because if I do, I'll have to tell her everything else and I'm not ready to do that. "Well, uh, you're…. Fine."

"Fine?" Lucy echoes. Yeah, smooth. I know. I nod and swallow the puke that's forcing its way up.

"Uh, yeah," I say. "I mean, you're not Mom or anything." I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth and I start word vomiting; "Not that you have to be! I mean, you know, no one's Mom because Mom was Mom. Uh, but you know, Dada really likes you and you're nice and pretty and smart but Al and me, well, we're not sure we're ready for a new mom and I don't know. I mean, do you want to be our mom? Never mind; please don't answer that." I shake my head and say, "Sorry." Lucy blinks at me.

"You said a lot of words in a very short amount of time," Lucy observes. I nod, staring at my food.

"I word vomit when I'm nervous," I say.

"I guess I should tell you something," Lucy sighs. My heart slows and I'm scared. I hate one-on-one with grown-ups, especially grown-ups I don't really know. She leans in and I flinch. Lucy's brow furrows and she asks, "Are you okay?" I swallow, my palms sweating. I'm getting pulled away. Not good, not good. There's an alarm going off in my head and I'm not seeing Lucy anymore. All I see is her.

"I need to tell you something." I shake my head. I don't want to relieve this conversation. I really don't. I can't.

"Ed?"  
"If you snitch like your brother did today, I'll kill him. You hear me? I'll wring his little neck until that worthless piece of shit dies!"

"No," I whimper, my whole body shaking. Don't kill Al! He didn't mean to tell! The teacher made him! It's not his fault!

"Ed, are you okay?"

"And if he ever tells like he did today, I'll beat you so hard your brother won't be able to recognize you. You're a bad boy, Edward. You know that." I nod, tears running down my face. I do. I do know that. Someone touches my shoulder and I flinch. I look up and see Dada. Without even thinking about it I fling myself on to him. I wrap my limbs around him and he chuckles softly.

"You silly boy," he whispers. "It's alright. Dada's here." I nod, trying to get out of my flashback. Those happen a lot to me and to Al. They suck but they're normal. Well, our normal anyway.

"Is he okay?" Lucy asks worriedly. I blush madly and let go of Dada. I hid my face as Dad nods.

"He's fine," Dad assures her. "Ed and Al just have anxiety. It's nothing you did, Lucy, promise."

"Where's Al?" I ask weakly.

"Al's lying down," Dada tells me. He kisses my cheek and says, "Baby brother's sleepy but feels bad about throwing up. If he doesn't fall asleep, he'll come back down."

"Okay," I say. I sit back down. Al's not coming back. He's too tired and probably embarrassed. Hell, I'm embarrassed too. I had a flashback in front of Lucy. At least I didn't barf or pee myself this time. That happens sometimes and it sucks balls.

"So," Dada says, "What did you two talk about?"  
"Not much," Lucy replies.

"I word vomited," I tell him.

"That's alright," Dad says. He tells me with his eyes that talking to Lucy will get easier as she hangs around more. I nod. I know that's true. I just wish I could talk to her now like a normal human being. But I can't. And the way I'm feeling, I don't know if I ever will.

After dinner Lucy helps clean up and she and Dada move to the living room. They brought a bottle of wine and a photo album. I don't know what they're looking at. Probably Dada's wedding to Mom and then my baby pictures. I do my homework in the dining room, Picard cowering under my feet. I guess Dada closed the door to our room. Otherwise Picard would be curled up next to Al, keeping him safe. I feel the cat move against my leg, meowing anxiously. I whisper that it'll be okay. That Lucy is nice but that she isn't staying over. That she's taking it slow with Dada 'cause of me. 'Cause I'm a big baby. I finish my homework and stand. I know that Dad's on a date and that I shouldn't hover but Al's not around so I'm anxious. I don't like being by myself. I really don't. I inch my way to the living room, Lucy laughing at the photo album.

"He was so cute!" She squeals. "How did that little baby get so big?"

"I ask myself that a lot," Dada chuckles. He flips the page and his eyes get sad. "This is one of my favorite pictures of Trish." I know the one. We're in Chicago. Al's still in Mom's tummy. It's March and it's snowing slightly. We're in front of that weird sliver bean and I'm smiling. Mom's holding me. I'm happy. I'm safe. Al's happy. Al's safe.

"She's absolutely beaming," Lucy comments.

"I know," Dada says sadly. "And look at Ed. He was the happiest baby. They both were."

"So she's pregnant with Al here?" Lucy asks. I guess she knows that Mom miscarried in between Al and me. I have a sibling I never got to meet. But Mom didn't get big with that baby. It died when she was only two months along. I don't even know if it was a boy baby or a girl baby.

"That's right," Dad answers. "We got pregnant right away after Ed. But Trish miscarried that baby two or three months after. Al was actually born a couple months early but he was healthy so he only spent a week in the hospital."

"I'm sorry," Lucy says softly. "That must have been hard."

"It was," Dad says. "When we lost that baby, we thought that was the hardest thing. But we were proven wrong when Al was born premature. That was the hardest thing. Surely nothing could beat that. But I was proven wrong when Trish died." Dad stops talking and cleans his glasses before saying, "But I have my boys. They mean the world to me." I can see Lucy grin.

"I know they do," she tells him. Dada flips through the album and laughs.

"Ed was such a silly baby," he chuckles. "Liked taking his clothes off."

"He's a good kid," Lucy says.

"Ed? Oh, yes, he really is. He always does his homework and goes to bed on time. He doesn't party or do any of the things teenagers do. He's a good boy." I rest up against the wall. Dad really thinks I'm a good boy. I guess Lucy thinks so too. I guess that means the only person who thinks I'm bad is me.

"Dada?" I ask, coming into the living room.

"Oh, Ed," Dad says, "Something wrong?" I shake my head.

"No," I say. "I just, um, well I…. I love you." Dad blinks and shakes his head.

"You silly boy," he says. "Come here, baby." I walk over and Dad stand up. He kisses my forehead and whispers, "I love you, too." I grin and Dad ruffles my hair.

"Wanna show Lucy your favorite picture of Al?" Dad asks. I nod and flip through the book. There's this picture of Al that makes me laugh every time. Mom took us to see the Easter bunny one year and it was terrifying. We were both forced to take pictures with it and I did cry, but not like Al did. He was probably only a year old. I don't know. But he screamed. Like face turned red, tried to fight the Easter bunny screamed. It makes me laugh every time I see it. I find it and hand Lucy the book.

"He was scared of it," I say. Lucy laughs and I laugh too.

"I don't blame him," Lucy laughs. "It's a scary costume."

"Oh," I say, pointing to a new picture, "That's Nana Elric and her dog. Al liked to ride her."

"Al seems like he was a silly baby," Lucy comments.

"He was," I say. "Al's always been silly. Ever since he was little." I hear the stairs creek and I guess Al's up. I know he felt guilty about skipping dinner so he might be coming down to hang out. I look over at the bottom of the stairs and Al appears. He's upset about something and is shaking.

"Dada," he whines. I guess he forgot Lucy was over. The grown-ups look over and my eyes widen. I know what's wrong with Al and now Lucy will know one of Al's deepest secrets. I fidget, wondering if there's a way I can discreetly shuffle Al out of the room before she realizes what happened.

"Hey, baby," Dad greets. "Something wrong?" I stand and tug on Dad's clothes. "Ed," Dada says, "What are you doing?"

"He wet the bed," I whisper.

"How do you know?" Dad asks in disbelief.

"I just know," I say. Dad nods and looks to Lucy. She's looking at the photo album again and not at Al who's sniveling at the foot of the stairs.

"Dada," he whines again. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, sweetie," Dada tells him. "Hold on a second." I can tell that Al's quickly losing his composure but Dad needs to pay attention to Lucy 'cause Lucy's his guest. "I'll be back, Lucy," Dada says as Al continues breaking down. "I think Al had a bad dream."

"Oh, no," Lucy says, looking up at Dad. "Is he alright?" That's when Al loses it. He starts crying and I know he's forgotten that Lucy's here.

"I didn' mean to," Al cries. "I didn' mean to wet the bed, Dada! Please don't be mad! I'm sorry!" I cringe, my eyes sliding over to Lucy. Her cheeks turn slightly pink and Dada looks over at Al.

"Al, go upstairs, honey," he instructs. "I'll help you in a minute."

"Dada," I say, but Dad ignores me. Al's trembling but he listens. He climbs up the stairs and Dad shakes his head.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "Al's been having issues sleeping lately."

"Concussion?" Lucy asks. I blink. Lucy's smart and has studied science. So she knows that bedwetting isn't a symptom of a concussion. So why'd she say that? Is she trying to spare Al's pride? I don't know, but it's definitely weird.

"That's definitely a factor, yeah," Dad answers, indulging Lucy's question. "I have to go take care of it."

"That's alright, Vic," she replies. She checks her watch and sighs. "It's getting late anyway. I should go."

"I'll walk you out," Dad says.

"What about Al?" I blurt. Dada turns around I cover my mouth. "Sorry."

"Why don't you sit with him until I get back?" Dada suggests with a smile. "He's upset."

"Yeah, okay," I say. "Lucy?"

"Yes?"

"I, uh, thanks for coming over," I say. "It was fun. And don't hold this against Al! It's not his fault, really! He didn't mean to ruin your night with Dada. Sometimes he throws up when he's nervous and he doesn't mean to wet the bed! Really!" Oops. Word vomit. Again. I lower my head and I can feel their eyes on me.

"You're a good big brother," Lucy says. "I'd feel lucky if I had an older brother who cared that much about me!" I glance up and she smiles at me. "I had fun too, Ed."

"Go check on Al," Dada tells me gently. "Go on, Ed. It's alright." I nod, though I'm still scared we ruined Dada's date. I mean in between the puking and the flashback, the night went terribly. I walk up the stairs, Picard meowing loudly at me. I walk into our room, Al sniveling on his bed.

"Hey," I say, walking in. He glances up at me.

"Hey," he says back. I sit across from him on my bed and sigh.

"I think we ruined Dada's date," I say. Al nods.

"Me…. Me too," he agrees softly. He wipes at his eyes, smearing tears all over his face. "It's all my fault. Dada's gonna get mad 'cause I made Lucy hate him and then he'll be lonely forever all 'cause of me!"

"Actually," I say, "Lucy said she had fun. I don't know if I believe her, but that's what she said."

"Fun?" Al questions miserably. "How is that possible?"

"I don't know," I answer with a shrug. "But that's what she said."

"Dad's gonna make me see a doctor, I think," Al says.

"Is this the fifth night in a row?" I ask. Al nods pathetically, his lip trembling.

"Yeah," he replies. "It hasn't been this bad since…. Well, since I was twelve."

"That was a bad year," I say. "You know, maybe Dada knows you're just stressed out. Maybe he won't make you see a doctor. I mean, I know I have more problems with that when I'm stressed."

"Maybe," Al says, "But he's worried so I don't know."

"Hey," Dada says from the door, his head peeking in. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, Dada," I say. Dad walks in and Al looks away from him. He sits down on Al's wet bed and pulls him close to him.

"Hey, baby, it's okay," he says softly. "It's okay."

"Sorry, Dada," Al whimpers, "I ruined your date. You should have just gone out with her. I'm sorry."

"You didn't ruin anything," Dada tells him gently. "That could have gone much worse, I think. You both did well. I'm so proud of you."

"Really?" Al sniffles.

"Yes," Dad replies. "Lucy really likes you, boys."

"She doesn't like me now that she knows I…." Al trails off, unable to complete his sentence.

"Al, she doesn't like you any less because of what happened," Dad assures him. "She even looked at your baby pictures. She wants to get to know you both but we'll take it slow." Dada kisses Al's head and sighs.

"Do I have to see a doctor?" Al asks anxiously.

"I think that's for the best, hon," Dad replies. "You're not in trouble, I just think we can help you. I know you don't like this anymore than I do." Al shakes his head.

"Dad, Al's just stressed," I say. "He doesn't want to see a doctor. They freak him out."

"I know, but I think he needs to get checked out," Dad argues.

"I know you worry but he's fine," I counter. "Once Elric Thanksgiving is over he'll be fine." Dad grimaces and I say, "What?"

"Nana Elric invited us to come to her house on Tuesday and stay until Friday," Dada explains.

"Nana Elric?" Al asks. "I like Nana Elric."  
"I know but I don't think it's a good idea," Dad tells us. "We'd probably see more of the family and I don't think you boys can handle that right now. Plus, neither of you sleep well outside the house so I don't think we should. The problem is, though, people will talk if we don't take her up on her invitation. They already don't really like us and I don't want anyone pestering you boys because of a decision I made."

"So what do we do?" I ask. "I don't mind spending the night at Nana Elric's but I don't want any other Elrics around. They all hate me. Can you imagine if one of my cousins heard me cry at night? It'd be a massacre."

"What if we wet the bed?" Al asks pathetically. "Nana Elric probably won't yell but what about one of our uncles? They might."

"I'm going to call Nana Elric tomorrow and talk to her about it," Dada tells us. "She knows about the abuse and knows you boys are still recovering from it. If I tell her my concerns she'll understand."

"Hey, Dada?" Al says.

"What, Ally?"  
"I'll help clean up the bed," Al says with a strained voice.

"Al, don't worry about that," Dada says gently. "All I want you to do is put clean pajamas on so you can go back to bed." Al quivers a little and Dada kisses his hair. "It's okay. It'll be okay." Al nods and stands up.

"Dada?" Al asks as Dad starts taking the sheets off his bed.

"Yes, Al?"

"If Brother goes to the doctor with me, I'll go." I look at Al and Dad stops moving.

"Really?" Dada asks.

"Mmm, yeah," Al replies. "Brother's braver than I am. If he goes with me, I won't be as scared." Dada turns to face him, a smile on his face.

"I'm so proud of you," Dada tells him. "I'll schedule you an appointment for Tuesday morning, okay?"

"Okay," Al answers.

"And if you decide to back out it's okay," Dad says. "I know how embarrassing and scary it is for you. I don't want to make you anxious."

"And you'll try to get on the Elrics' good side, right?" I ask.

"I will," Dad confirms. "I don't want you worrying about staying at Nana Elric's house. Everything will work out." We both nod and Al grabs some fresh clothes. He tells me he's going to take a quick shower and I nod. When he's gone I walk over to Dad.

"Dad, do you think it's stress or are you worried something's wrong that the doctors missed?" I ask.

"I don't know, Ed," Dada sighs. "I just worry. I need to hear that nothing's physically wrong, I guess."

"I don't think anything's wrong," I tell him. "I think Al's just been under a lot of stress lately."

"That's probably true," Dada agrees. "Still – better safe than sorry, right?" Dad gathers up the soaked sheets and walks off. I grab his arm, though, pausing him in his walk cycle. "What's wrong?" Dada asks.

"He's thinking about cutting," I tell him softly. Dad nearly drops what he's holding.

"What?"

"Al's scratching at his skin and thinking about hurting himself," I say. "Thought you should know."

"Has he hurt himself?" Dada asks worriedly. I shake my head.

"No," I say, "But that's part of the reason he's so stressed, I think."

"Oh, dear," Dad breathes. Dad thought we had gotten passed someone cutting last year when I decided I didn't want to hurt myself anymore. He was wrong. Al's in the low place I was in and now he has to worry about that all over again.

"But," I say, "I think art therapy will help him. He likes it, Dada, and I think Al's better at expressing feelings like that rather than with words."

"Let's hope so," Dad says softly. "I need to get these in the hamper so I can clean the mattress." I nod.

"You should bring out the mattress cover, I think," I tell him. "You know, so it doesn't get too gross."

"I think I will but it'll hurt Al's pride," Dad replies.

"Lots of things hurts Al's pride, Dada," I remind him. "Al's super sensitive." Dad smiles and nods.

"Just like Mom," he comments. "It's late, Ed. Get ready for bed, okay? We need to take Picard to the vet in the morning."

"Right," I say. I get dressed for bed and Dad finishes cleaning Al's bed. He puts the plastic cover on it before replacing the sheets even though he knows full well Al won't be sleeping in his bed again tonight. Al'll sleep with me because he's freaked out and upset. He always does. When Dada's done making Al's bed he kisses my forehead and tells me goodnight. I echo his words, adding a quick "I love you" at the end. Dada smiles warmly at me and kisses me again.

"I love you, too," he replies, tickling my sides. "You silly boy." I push his hands away, laughing, and he stands up. Al's returning to the room as Dada's leaving so Dad gives him a big hug.

"I love you so much, Al," Dad says to him. Al returns the hug and I can see him shaking from my bed. Dada kisses him over and over, Al laughing 'cause Dad's beard tickles.

"I love you, too, Dada," Al says warmly. Dad finally ends the hug and ruffles his hair.

"Sweet dreams, boys," he says. "Come get me if you need something." We both nod and Dad leaves the door open a crack like always. Al grabs Chico and sits down next to me.

"He put the plastic on your bed again," I tell him. To my surprise, Al shrugs. I was really expecting him to get upset.

"Eh," Al says. "I figured he would."

"You mean you're not upset?" I ask.

"Oh, I am," Al says with a laugh, "But there's nothing I can do about it, I guess."

"Guess not," I agree. "How's the Nana Elric thing treating you?"

"Mmm, bad," Al answers. He yawns, rubs at his eyes, and says, "I like Nana Elric but don't wanna spend the night at her house. It's like an invitation for our family to give us a hard time."

"Yeah," I agree. "Don't worry about, Ally. Dada will get us out of it." Al nods and yawns again. "'Kay, kiddo," I say, "Sleeping time." Al nods again and crawls to the other side of the bed. I shut off the lights and lie down next to him, Lamby tucked under my arm and my blanket under my pillow. Al inches closer to me and finally gets comfy.

"G'night, Ally," I say tiredly. "Love you." Al hums happily beside me.

"Sweet dreams, Brother," Al replies. "I love you, too."


	18. When Al Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Typically, cats feel pretty violated when you take them to the vet. Similarly, sometimes kids don't like going to the doctor for the same reason.

Al's struggling to get Picard into his cat carrier so we can go to the vet. His appointment is looming closer but Picard won't get in the cat carrier. Al chases the cat down while I hold the carrier open. I can hear Al apologize to the cat as he grabs him by the collar and shoves him inside the carrier. I shut the door and exhale in relief. Al and I do a fist bump and yell at Dada that we're ready. We hurry to the car and soon we're at the vet. When we adopted Picard, the shelter fee covered a vet visit. Things have been crazy lately, though, so we're just now getting around to it. We need to make sure that Picard's healthy and up to date on his shots and stuff like that. Al's nervous that Picard won't like the vet so I hold his hand. We get strange looks but I ignore them. I good at ignoring them since I've been doing it for two years. Al and I hold hands in public. Big deal. If the people those dirty looks belonged to knew what Al's been through, what I've been through, I have a feeling their dirty looks would disappear. The vet calls us back and Picard hisses at her. Al apologizes and I sense a breakdown coming on. So I squeeze his hand and Dada handles the talking. All Al can say is that Picard's a good cat. The vet says she knows he is and gives Picard a check-up. Thankfully everything's normal and Picard doesn't need any shots. The vet tells us to come back in a year if nothing's wrong and we leave. Al whispers to Picard the whole way home, telling that cat just how good of a boy he is.

It might be stupid, but I've been carrying around that list Al made about me in my pocket since Friday. I haven't looked at it since then but I keep it with me. I don't know why but it makes me feel better. I guess it's cause Al wrote such nice things about me on that little piece of paper that I can't help but feel better when I have with me. It's Monday morning so it's pancake breakfast day. The weekend was pretty boring after Picard's vet visit, honestly. Winry came over but we mostly watched movies. I don't mind boring, though, so I had fun even if it was boring. I know Al feels the same way. We sit in our normal booth, eat our normal pancakes, and get to school right on time. Winry meets us like always and I can't stop staring at her. It's so weird. I like her. It's weird. I don't know what to do with these weird feelings so all I can do is ignore them. At least, I try to ignore them. But every time I see her, I get butterflies in my tummy. The good kind, not the bad anxious kind. When she talks to me, all I can think about his holding her hand or cuddling with her and honestly it makes me want to barf. Winry's my friend. But beyond that, she knows all my issues. She knows I have anxiety, that I used to hurt myself on purpose, that I have nightmares and night terrors, that I cry all the time, and that I hold my brother's hand in public 'cause I'm a big dumb baby. Winry doesn't want to be my girlfriend. I should just forget about that. But I can't and it sucks.

I'm actually getting tired of not remembering school. School's important and I need to do well. I don't know why lately I can't seem to remember it. Well, this week I've got a pretty big reason and that's Elric Thanksgiving. Oh, God, I don't want to go to that. I really hope Dada can get us out of staying at Nana Elric's place until Friday. With all my aunts and uncles and cousins hanging around I think Al and me would die. Like shrivel up, turn into dust, and float away. I lean up against my locker, waiting for Al. I wonder if he can remember the school day today. He's got a lot on his plate. On top of Elric Thanksgiving, Dada's making him go to the doctor tomorrow for the most embarrassing reason ever. If it were me, I don't think I'd go. Dad's contemplated taking me before and I always shoot him down. At least Dad's cool about understanding that it makes me anxious and I'm not ready to talk about something that damn embarrassing with a doctor. I glance upward and see Al walking toward me. He's all slouched over and I instantly know something's wrong. I hurry over and Al doesn't even look up.

"What's the matter?" I ask, kids pushing passed me. Al shrugs.

"I, uh, failed my bio quiz," Al says softly.

"You did?" I ask, baffled.

"Yeah," Al whimpers.

"Hey," say gently, "It's okay. It happens, Ally." Al rubs at his eyes and shakes his head.

"No, it's not okay," Al argues miserably. "Dad's gonna be mad because he helped me and I still failed."

"He's not gonna be mad, Al," I say. "Dad knows you were having trouble understanding the material. He's not gonna be mad at you. Besides, you've at it really rough lately. You've had bigger things to deal with." Al doesn't say anything so I take his hand. "C'mon, Ally. Let's go, 'kay?" Al nods and I guide him outside. We sit on the steps, Winry waltzing over and sitting next to us.

"Hey," she greets.

"Hey," I echo.

"So, you guys going to Urbana?" Winry asks.

"Unfortunately," I say bitterly. "You?" Winry shrugs, her hair resting on her shoulder.

"Going to visit the rest of the Rockbells in Springfield like always," Winry answers.

"Fun," I say. "All that time alone in a car with Granny." Winry shoves me lightly.

"Shut up," she says. "It's not that bad."

"Easy for you to say," I counter. "The Elrics hate us."

"That's dumb," Winry says heatedly. "You guys are the best Elrics by far! And I don't get how they could hate Uncle Vic. I mean, he took Aunt Trisha's last name for crying out loud! What's their damage?"

"They're all assholes," I spit.

"Not Nana Elric," Al says quietly.

"Yeah, not her," I say bitterly. "One single person in our whole extended family isn't an asshole."

"You okay, Al?" Winry asks, catching on to Al's mood.

"I failed a quiz," Al says pathetically. "And I studied for it, too!"

"Aww, that sucks," Winry says sincerely. "I'm sorry, Ally. What was it?"

"Cellular respiration," Al answers. "I lose track of the ATP and can't remember where it all takes place."

"I can help you if you want," Winry offers. Al grins weakly.

"Thanks," he says, "But not even Dada could help me."

"Well, maybe you need fresh eyes," Winry suggests. "Sometimes I know I need Ed or someone to look at something after I've been staring at it so long my brain's mushy." Al laughs.

"Maybe," Al agrees. "Can you help me tomorrow at lunch?"

"'Course I can," Winry chirps. "Hey, who do you have for bio again?"

"Mr. Murdoch," Al answers. "He pretty much hates me by now."

"If he hates you he's an asshole," I blurt. "I mean, you fell asleep one time and failed one damn quiz. Big deal!"

"He also saw me have a panic attack in the hallway after you kicked him," Al reminds me.

"Still!" I cry. "It was a panic attack! It's not like those are any fun for you!"

"Brother, please don't yell," Al says.

"Sorry," I grumble, crossing my arms. "He just pisses me off is all. Does Dada have to sign your quiz?"

"Yeah," Al says as Dad pulls up. We stand and Al says, "Oh, God, I'm gonna puke."

"Don't be nervous, Ally," I say. "Dada won't be mad at you."

"Okay," Al says, swallowing the vomit in his throat. "Bye, Winry." Winry smiles and waves.

"Bye, guys! See you tomorrow!" I wave and get in the car. Dad smiles at both of us and drives away.

"Dada," Al says, pulling what I guess is his quiz out of his backpack along with Chico, "You have to sign this later."

"What is it?" Dada asks. "A permission slip?"

"No," Al answers, tears in his voice. "I failed that quiz."  
"You did?" Dad questions loudly. "Really?" Al nods miserably.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers. "I tried, Dada, I really did."

"Oh, honey, it's okay," Dad coos. Al starts crying and Dada smiles sadly. "You know what Picard would tell you?" Al shakes his head and Dad says, "He would say that it's possible to do everything right, to give it your all, and still lose. Sometimes we do our best, Al, but we fail anyway. But it's not the failing part that's important. It's how you respond to it." Al blinks, a few tears rolling down his face.

"Winry said she'd help me study," Al says. "And I get everything else."

"See?" Dada says warmly. "You're going to be just fine. One little quiz doesn't determine your worth, Al." Al blinks and pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket.

"Brother thinks I'm smart," Al says and I realize that he's been carrying around the list I made for him like I carry around his. "And I'm usually good at science. Things have just been hard lately so I'm off my game. I'll do better next time, Dada, promise."

"I know you will, Al," Dada says confidently. "I know you will because you're not the type to quit after one bad day. You keep moving forward." Al smiles broadly and I can't help but grin too.

Therapy was mostly artsy stuff. Since we respond so well to art therapy and actually requested that we do it more often, Dr. Hughes asked if we'd rather do that than talk. We both said yes. Al played with clay mostly while I colored. While we drew and stuff Dr. Hughes would ask us questions. We'd answer them, usually without thinking about it. I guess it's 'cause our brains are so focused on whatever it is we're working on that we don't think about our answers. Dr. Hughes says that affective so I guess we'll keep doing it. All I know is I like coloring. We had dinner at home like always, we did homework, and Dada asked how therapy went. We said it went fine and Al talked about just how much he likes art therapy. I asked if we got out of staying at Nana Elric's and got really nervous. Dada only got us out of staying on Tuesday night. We're going over around lunch on Wednesday and staying until Friday evening. Apparently Nana Elric wants to take us to a farmer's market and help her do Black Friday shopping. Great.

I roll over, Al sleeping next to me. I wonder how anxious he'll be tomorrow. Not only is he going to the doctor, we're sleeping in a new place on Wednesday. At the thought of Wednesday, I frown. There's no group on Wednesday. No place for me to tell my story. It's probably good for me to take a break considering how hard it was getting to talk about but still. I'm used to doing it now. It'll be weird to not tell my story to the group. Guess I'll have wait until next week. Weird. I hug Lamby tighter and shut my eyes. I want to sleep but can't. I can't fall asleep. I move and the plastic beneath my sheets makes noise. Since Al doesn't always sleep in his own bed (and since I've been wetting the bed more than usual) Dada thought it was best to put plastic on my bed again too. Damn, it's embarrassing. I know no one else but us knows, but still. It's still embarrassing somehow. I know none of the kids in my class deal with this shit. They can sleep at night. I stare at those glow-in-the-dark stars, my eyes itching. God, I wish I could fall asleep. Al stirs and I stop breathing. Nightmare? Or night terror? It's gotta be one. I wait – wait to see if Al'll keep moving or if he'll still. He moves again and I sit up, grimacing. Which one will it be? Al moans pathetically, beginning to trash around. I stand, trying to avoid getting hit. Picard stands up too, his blue eyes staring at him as he moves around. Then the screaming starts. Al starts screaming loudly, trashing around, and kicking his legs. I watch, realizing it's probably a night terror – moments of blinding panic that don't end until he wakes up. Al sits up and his eyes peel open. I don't think he's out of the night terror yet because he's still crying and screaming and kicking. But I cautiously approach so I can try to help.

"Hey, Ally," I say gently. Al doesn't look at me. He just stares off into the distance, tears running down his face. He's not screaming anymore so maybe it was just a nightmare. He wipes at his eyes, wailing softly and I know it was just a nightmare. I sit down and take his hand. "The scary stuff's gone and you're safe now," I tell him softly. "It's okay." Al shakes his head and slowly lays down on my lap. He's sobbing now and there's nothing I can do. All I can do is pet his hair until he calms down.

"Shh," I whisper, "It's okay, baby brother. You're okay now. It's over." Al keeps crying, slowly crawling into my lap entirely. He's really too big to fit, but he tries. Al wraps his arms around my middle, his legs wrapping around me too. He lowers his face into my shoulder and keeps crying. "Wanna talk about it?" I ask. Al shakes his head and I sigh. I grab Chico and put it in his hand. It's been a while since he cried like this. Whenever he does, though, he gets weird. Like, sometimes he'll suck on Chico or even his thumb until he goes to sleep. It's that regression stuff Dr. Hughes talks about sometimes. Al used to suck his thumb when he was little so when he's this upset, his brain makes him think that if he were little again, he'd be safe. I guess that's true, though. I mean, when we were little before she came around, we were safe. No one hurt us back then. Mom took care of us back then and loved us with everything that was in her. So even though I don't understand everything that goes into regression, I do think that it makes sense. We were safe when we were little.

"It's okay," I comfort, Al's crying quieting. I assume Chico's ear or his thumb are in his mouth by now. I hug him tighter and Al hugs me back. We sit like that for a moment before Al starts squirming. "You need to go pee?" I ask. I feel Al nod so I say, "I'll go with you so you're not scared." Al nods again and we get up. Chico's tucked under his arm and like I thought, he's got a thumb in his mouth. I take his free hand and we walk to the hallway. Al whimpers and I rub his hand with my thumb. I think he's still really freaked out. I wonder what he dreamed about. He might tell me when he's calmer. We get to the bathroom and Al reluctantly lets go of my hand.

"I'll be right here, Ally," I assure him. "I'll come get you when you're all done." Al nods and walks in. I sigh, wondering if there will be a time where Al never has nightmares. If there will be a time when I don't have nightmares. If there will be a time when both of us can sleep at night like normal people. I hear the toilet flush followed by the sink running. When the water stops I walk in and grab his hand.

"Wanna sleep with Dada?" I ask. Al nods, a thumb still in his mouth and I guide him down the hallway. "What did you dream about?" Al takes his thumb out of his mouth and looks at me.

"Mom," Al answers quietly. "She…. She b-blamed me for ev-everything." Al shakes his head and says pathetically, "I don't wanna talk about it, Brother." The thumb goes back in his mouth and I nod.

"Okay," I say. "That's okay. Dada will make you feel safe, promise." Al nods again and I knock on Dada's door. I wait a minute before going inside. I walk to the edge of his bed and whisper, "Dada." Dad sits up instantly and stares at me.

"What's the matter, Ed?" He asks tiredly.

"Ally had a nightmare," I say. "He wants to sleep with you." Dad nods.

"Okay, baby, come on," Dada says. Al lets go of my hand and crawls up in bed. He latches on to Dad and Dad asks, "Want to sleep with me too, Ed?"

"Yeah," I admit. I hate being in my room alone. "Let me get Lamby."

"Sure, okay," Dada replies, petting Al's hair. I nod and hurry out of the room. I grab Lamby and hurry back so I can curl up on Dada's other side. I get in bed and Dad pulls me closer.

"You boys okay now?" He asks softly. I nod. I feel safe in Dada's bed. I feel safe in Dada's arms. I feel safe here. Al nods too, his thumb still in his mouth. Dada takes it out and brushes hair out of his face. "You were sucking your thumb again, Ally. Try not to do that, okay?" Al nods and closes his eyes. He exhales contently and Dad lays down. We both go with him and I close my eyes too. Finally. I can sleep.

When Al said he was okay with going to the doctor, I expected him to back out by now. But he hasn't. We're getting ready to go and Al's not changing his mind. I can tell he's embarrassed as hell but he going anyway. It's 'cause lately Al's been brave. He's trying to be brave and get better and I'm really proud of him. I hope that soon I can be as brave as Al has been the last few weeks. I sorta doubt that I can but there's no real harm in hoping, right? We finish eating and Dad tells us we need to get moving. Al's appointment is soon and he wants us to go to school for at least the last half. Al mentions that Winry was going to help him study at lunch and Dada says we'll try to get him there for that. Soon we're out the door and in the car. Since Al's really anxious about the doctor, I sit in the back and hold his hand. We talk a little back and forth before going quiet. Everyone's got a lot on their mind. Dada's scared something's physically wrong with Al and is worried about Nana Elric's. Al's just scared of the doctor, he's anxious about Nana Elric's, and he's nervous about Elric Thanksgiving in general. I'm scared of everything Al is. So yeah. I figure we'll stay quiet until we get there.

We make it to the office and Dada checks Al in. We both still see a pediatrician so there's lots of little kids in the office. Mostly babies. We sit down, Al twisting his shirt in his hands. We went to the doctor earlier this year for check-ups (we go more than most kids our age so the doctor can track our growth) but it never gets any easier to go. We still get nervous, scared that someone will tell her that we snitched. Stupid? Hell yeah. But we can't help it. It's just the way we think. Her fault? Hell yeah. We wait for a few more minutes before a nurse calls us back. She smiles happily at us and takes Al to the intake room. He gets measured and weighed and freaks out over the blood pressure cuff like always. Dada gets him to calm down and the nurse tries talking to him to mellow him out.

"You've grown since the last time you were here," she says, the cuff squeezing his arm.

"Really?" Al asks, wincing.

"A whole half an inch," the nurse answers.

"Did he put on any weight?" Dada asks.

"No, not this time, but these things take time," she replies cheerfully. Al whimpers and the nurse smiles at him. "You're doing fine, sweetie. Just a second or two longer." See, blood pressure freaks Al out 'cause it hurts. If it didn't hurt, he'd be fine. The nurse finishes and she leads us to the exam room. We all sit and the nurse says, "Dr. Marcoh will be with you soon." We nod and she leaves.

"I'm gonna throw up," Al groans, tucking his head between his legs.

"Just breathe, Ally," I say. "In through your nose, out through your mouth." Dada rubs his back, trying to help him stay calm.

"Ugh," he groans. "I changed my mind. I wanna go home."

"We're already here, Al," Dada points out. "If you want, I can do all the talking, okay?"

"Yeah, maybe," Al says, raising his head. "I might throw up if I try to talk." Someone knocks on the door and Dada says it's okay to come in. Dr. Marcoh walks in and smiles at us. He's a nice doctor. He was our doctor when we were little, but she forced us to stop seeing him so he wouldn't suspect anything. Whenever we were sick and Dad was home, we'd see a doctor at an urgent care so no one would get suspicious of us. When Dada wasn't home, well, she'd wait until the last minute to bring us in so our wounds would heal and not raise suspicion if she brought us at all. Anyway, Dr. Marcoh's been our doctor again for two years. He and his office know what happened and they've been tracking our physical growth since then. I guess that's important. I don't know. Dr. Marcoh shuts the door and sits down in front of us.

"What brings you two in today?" He asks like he doesn't know. I bet Dada told the office over the phone why we were coming in. So he already knows why we're here. But maybe the nurse told him how nervous Al is so he's trying to calm him down by talking to him.

"I, uh," Al stammers. His cheeks get pink and he tries again, "I'm having…. What I mean is…. I can't…."

"Want me to say it, Al?" Dad asks gently. Al nods and tucks his head between his legs again. I rub his back as Dada says, "He's been wetting the bed almost every night recently. I was worried about him and he agreed to come in."

"Well," Dr. Marcoh sighs, "You know that bed wetting, especially in teenagers, is rarely caused by a physical problem." Dad nods.

"I know," he says, "But I'm worried."

"That's understandable," Dr. Marcoh replies, "But let's talk before I decide if I'm going to take a look, okay?" Dada nods and turns to Al who still has his face in his legs.

"I'll be doing the talking for now," Dad says.

"Okay. Have there been any major changes in the home recently?" Dr. Marcoh asks.

"Not really," Dada answers. "I mean, we adopted a cat but Al wanted that so that hasn't been stressful for him."

"Any change in his personal relationships?"

"No," I answer. They both look at me and I say, "What? It's not like Al's gonna talk."

"Any changes in your personal relationships?" Dr. Marcoh asks Dad.

"Actually," Dad begins, "I did meet someone and we've been on a date. We'll probably go out again soon."

"Okay," Dr. Marcoh says writing, "Has this been stressful for him?"  
"I believe so, yes," Dada answers. "His anxiety has been crazy lately."

"He's not on medication for his anxiety, correct?"

"Right," Dad replies.

"Is there anything else that could be stressing him out?"

"Elric family Thanksgiving," I answer.

"Does the Elric Thanksgiving stress you out too, Ed?" Dr. Marcoh asks me.

"Oh, hell, yeah," I reply. "Ties my stomach in knots."

"Are you having issues with bed wetting, Ed?" Dr. Marcoh asks. I blush but nod.

"Well, I, uh, yeah," I admit. "It's not as bad as Al's, but it's two to four times on a bad week." Dr. Marcoh nods, writes everything down, and turns to Al.

"Al? Can I ask you some questions now?" Dr. Marcoh asks.

"Sure," Al replies, his head still between his knees.

"Are you experiencing any discomfort when you pee?"

"No," Al answers.

"Any lower back pain?" Dr. Marcoh asks, his pen flying across the paper.

"Nope," Al says.

"Constipation?"

"No," Al replies.

"As I thought, Victor," Dr. Marcoh sighs, "It's stress. They're both just stressed right now and once that stress goes away, it should go back to the occasional accident. They're both fine, I promise."

"You're sure?" Dada presses worriedly.

"As sure as I can be without actually looking at him," Dr. Marcoh chuckles. "I don't think Al really wants to go through that right now." Al squeaks and I shake my head; typical Al.

"So in the interim?" Dad asks.

"Have you tried alarms?" Dr. Marcoh says. Dada nods and Dr. Marcoh asks, "When did you try that?"

"It's been a few years," Dada replies. "Van…. I convinced her that diapering Al wasn't helping to solve the problem when he was eight, maybe nine. But she got frustrated that we didn't see results right away so we quit using it." Dr. Marcoh nods.

"I've found that many families tend to get frustrated when it doesn't instantly solve the problem," Dr. Marcoh explains. "Alarms have been proven fairly affective in getting kids to wake up, but it ultimately doesn't solve the problem. It'll just keep everything drier which is nice for you until they grow out of it. Since Ed's almost sixteen, I imagine he'll grow out of it in the next six months or so since therapy is going well for him. He's made a lot of progress in the last couple years that you should be proud of."

"Oh, I am," Dada says warmly. "I'm proud of both of them."

"When will I grow out of it?" Al asks miserably, finally lifting his head so he can look at Dr. Marcoh.

"Well, Alphonse, you seem to struggle a bit more in that department but I don't think you'll be wetting the bed in college," he replies. Al groans and Dr. Marcoh smiles at him. "Don't worry – you'll grow out of it soon enough. Just let your body grow and it'll get better."

"Promise?" Al presses. "What if I do wet the bed in college?"

"You won't," Dr. Marcoh assures him. "And if you do, there's options for you. Don't worry about it, son. I promise you'll grow out of it just like Ed will." Al nods, resting his face on his hands.

"Let's try the alarm, boys," Dad says. "I think it'll help." We both nod, though I'm not sure about it. Would it just be Al or would we both have to do it? I don't have the same problems Al does. So I don't know what Dada will do.

"Anything else?" Dr. Marcoh asks, standing.

"No," Dad replies. He stands, shakes Dr. Marcoh's hand and says, "I feel so much better for coming in. You have no idea."

"That's what I'm here for," Dr. Marcoh replies. He ruffles Al's hair and says, "No offense, but I don't want to see either of you until next year's check-up." We both chuckle. It's a running joke that every time we leave Dr. Marcoh says this. Did it when we were little and he picked it back up when we became his patients again. It's stupid but I like it.

"Don't really want to see your face either, Dr. Marcoh," I reply cheekily. Al laughs and Dr. Marcoh opens the door.

"Have a good one," he says, walking off.

"You really feel better?" Al asks, taking my hand.

"You have no idea," Dada replies. "I worry about you boys so much. It's nice to hear that nothing's wrong physically."

"So do we both get the alarm thing or?" I ask.

"I don't think you need it, Ed, but since Al sleeps in your bed most nights we'll probably get two anyway," Dad tells me. He pays then checks his watch. "Looks like I'll get you boys back just in time for lunch."  
"Yay!" Al cries happily. "I wanted Winry to help me today!"

"You're gonna master that whole cellular respiration thing, Al," I tell him. "You'll see." Al nods, a determined look on his face.

"Mmm, yeah!" He agrees. "I'm gonna knock it right on its butt!"

"Yeah!" I yell in the parking lot. "You show it to 'em!"

"Yeah!" Al says loudly, giggling wildly. "I'll ace the test and be first in my class!"

"Hell yeah!" I scream, people looking at me.

"Boys," Dada chuckles.

"Fuck yeah!" Al yells, Dad laughing.

"Boys, don't," he scolds lightly. "Al, you know I don't like that word." Al shakes his head.

"Sorry," Al laughs. "Got carried away."

"You two are so silly," Dad muses. "Mom's silly boys." We get in the car and I sit in the back with Al again. I take his hand and Dad starts the car.

"Hey, Al," I say, "You were super brave back there." Al smiles broadly.

"Really?"

"Yeah," I say. "You did so good."  
"Your brother's right, honey," Dada adds. "You were embarrassed and scared but you did it anyway. I'm proud of you." Al's cheeks turn slightly pink.

"Stop," he mumbles happily.

"Know who I'm proud of?" Dada asks. Al squeaks and hides his face as I say,

"No clue. Who?"

"I'm proud of Al," Dad says, a smile on his face. "I'm so proud of my little Alphonse." Al giggles and I smile. Al was brave today. But it's not just today. Al's been brave lots of days lately. He's doing things he never would have done last year. So when Dada says he's proud, he means it. Al might be in the low place. He might want to hurt himself and might wish he was dead most of the time. But he's still getting better. 'Cause recovery's a scatter plot. It's a jumbled mess of lines and events that all lead to the end of the road. I frown, realizing I don't know what the end of the road is. Is it when I grow up? Is it when I'm better? I don't know. But the thing is, though, I may not ever get off the recovery road. I might get better, but the abuse will always be a part of me. That Night, the basement, the chain, the mirror and the fence will always be a part of me and no amount of recovery will change that. But I guess that's not the goal of recovery. It's not to get rid of those things. It's to learn to deal with those things.

"Dada," I say, "What do you think the end of recovery looks like?" Dad looks at me through the rearview mirror and frowns.

"Hmm," he hums in thought. "I've never thought about it, Ed. I guess… I guess the short term end of recovery is a day when you boys can just be normal kids again. I guess it's when you two can sleep at night and you're not afraid to let people in. But really, I don't think it ever ends, Ed. I think there's always more to improve on." I nod.

"That's what I think," I tell him. "We're getting better, but there's no real end to it all.

We'll always get better 'cause those things are part of us now."

"I want you to know, Ed, that no matter what progress you make or how many steps backward you take, I'll always be proud of you," Dad tells me. "You've worked so hard and I'm starting to realize how this whole thing works. You're gonna mess up. You're gonna fall back in to old habits. But it's okay. It's okay because in the end you're still trying. You're reaching for that goal and you'll get there someday. I'm so proud of both of you." I blink, a lump forming in my throat. I can't believe he said all that. Not 'cause I don't believe him (part of me doesn't, but that's just how I am right now. Believing nice things people say to me's gonna take more time, I think.) but because he said exactly what I needed him to. I've been so scared that I haven't gotten better enough to make Dada proud. That when I mess up, when I regress or slip backward, that Dada's disappointed in me. That no matter how hard I try, I'm never good enough. But he just said recovery's a scatter plot. He just said that Al and I are going to mess up; that we are going to have bad days. Hell, we're going to have shit days sometimes. But that's all part of the process. I wipe my face, Al squeezing my hand gently.

"You okay back there, Brother?" Dad asks. I nod, unable to say anything. Al nods too, a smile on his face.

"We love you, Dada," he says with a strained voice. I figured that Al needed to hear that, too. I guessed that he too is so overwhelmed with how he feels that all he can say to Dada is "I love you."

"I love you too, boys," Dad says softly. I finish wiping my face and I know there's nothing else to be said. We love each other. Despite all the shit, all the pain and guilt and blame, we love each other. And in the end, that's what's gonna get me and Al to get better. We'll get better 'cause we love each other and other people love us. If that's not a reason to get better, then I really have no clue what is.


	19. Champaign-Urbana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this all an elaborate plot to kill Al? Tune in this week to find out!

I'm running down a dirt path in a corn field. It's a corn maze and there's a festival going on. I'm trying to find Mom, Al's giggling laughter floating in and out of the rows of corn. Finally, I spot her. She's standing in the center of the maze, her back turned to me.

"Mommy!" I cry, sprinting toward her. She turns, her face split in a smile. She opens her arms so wide and I jump inside them. She picks me off the ground and spins around a bit before putting me down again.

"Well, hello there, Little Man," she greets warmly, petting my hair. My hands are behind my back and I guess she notices 'cause she says, "Whatcha got there, Ed?"

"A present!" I reply happily. I hold it up to her; a little clay figurine of a horse. Mom picks it up and smiles at it.

"Oh, Ed," she sighs, "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"Al made one too, but I don' know where he is," I inform her. Mom takes my hand and leads me away from the clearing.

"Then we should find him, don't you think?" Mama asks. I nod and start searching for my brother. The rows of corn stretch out, reaching up until they touch the clouds. Mom calls for Al, my pulse slowing as the green stalks turn brown. I whimper and hide in Mom's side, the clouds covering the sun from view.

"Mama, I'm scared," I whimper.

"The sun's just hiding, sweetie," Mama tells me. "There's nothing to be scared of." But there is. There's a shadow following us. I try to tell Mom but the words get lost in my throat. I look over my shoulder, the corn rustling as someone – or something – hides between the rows.

"Mama, someone's here," I say hurriedly. "They're following us! We hafta leave!"

"Let's find Ally, first," Mom insists.

"Mom we gotta go!" I yell fearfully as the rows of corn move closer. Mama lets go of my hand and I gasp. The corn seems to eat her up, pulling her away from me. "Mom!" I chase after the corn, tripping and rolling across the ground. The corn's closing in on me, that shadow getting nearer and nearer.

"Mom! Mama! Help!" I cry, trying to crawl away from the corn.

"Edward."

My blood runs cold. I look up the shadow staring right at me. It's her and she's holding the horse I made for Mom. There's blood on her clothes and she's dragging Al behind her. I shake my head, unable to process everything I'm seeing. She walks closer, Al silently dragging behind her.

"You bad boy," she says coldly.

"I didn't do anything!" I cry pathetically. "Honest! I've been good the whole time! Just ask Mom!" She smirks at me.

"Okay," she replies. "Trisha?" Mom appears from within the rows and glares at me. I start shaking and crawl over to her.

"Mama, tell her I'm a good boy," I beg. "She's gonna hit me if you don't. Tell her me an' Al are good boys." Mom's face twists angrily and she shoves me down. I gasp, tears beginning to run down my face.

"How could I do that, Edward?" She questions sharply. "It's a lie. You're not a good boy." My heart stalls. Why would Mom say that to me? Why?

"Mommy," I whimper. "Mommy, I made you a present. I'm a good boy!"

"You're a bad boy, Edward," Mom taunts. "You're a bad boy. Your present is bad because you're a bad boy."

"No!" I cry. "I'm a good boy! I'm a good boy!" Mom kicks me and I stop talking. I glance over at Al who's still sleeping. If he even is asleep. My eyes widen and I realize his throat's been cut. I crawl over and struggle to find a pulse.

"Mom!" I scream. "Mama! Help! Al's gonna die!"

"Good riddance," Mom sneers. "He's a bad boy."

"No!" I wail. "No!"

"If only you could save him," she taunts. "But you can't. You're worthless. And now your brother will die because of it."

"I hate you," Mom hisses at me. I shudder violently, holding Al's body close. It's cold. He's dead. Oh, God, he's dead.

"Al!"

I sit up, my chest heaving. I glance around, trying to get my breathing under control. I shudder because I'm cold. Cold. Al! I quickly turn my body and see Al curled up next to me. I shake him, my lip trembling when he doesn't respond.

"Al!" I cry, "Al! Wake up! Please wake up!" He doesn't do anything and I break down. "I'm so sorry, Al!" I wail pathetically. "I'm so sorry!" I lower my head on to his side and sob into him. I can't tell if he's dead or not. I can't. I can't. He's so cold. I can't.

"Mmm, Brother?"

My heart beats funny and I lift my head. Al's staring at me, concern in his big eyes. "What's wrong, Brother?" He asks. I fling myself on to him and start wailing again. Al slowly returns the hug and rubs my back. "Did you have a bad dream?" Al asks me softly. I don't have any words so I nod.

"Well," Al says, "It's okay now, Brother. You're safe. It's all over. The scary stuff's gone and you're safe." I continue sobbing, Al rubbing my back. He whispers to me, trying to get me to calm down but I can't. Even though I now it was a dream, I can't get Mom's voice telling me she hates me out of my head. I know Mom didn't hate me but hearing it said….

"Shh," Al whispers gently, "It's okay. Want me to get Dada?" I nod pathetically and Al says, "Okay, I'll get him." He pulls away and gets out of bed. Al walks off and I still can't stop crying. I grab Lamby and hold him up against my face. Mommy loved me. She loved me. She loved me. She didn't think I was a bad boy. She didn't. She loved me. I choke a little and my chest feels like it's collapsing. I miss Mom. I miss Mom so much. If Mama never died, I never would have gotten abused. I wouldn't be a big blubbery fifteen-year-old baby. I'd be a normal kid. I'd be a kid who has a permit and goes to parties and sleeps over at friends' houses. I'd be a kid who isn't anxious all the time or afraid of Elric Thanksgiving. I'd be normal. I miss Mom.

"I w-wan' Mom," I snivel, Lamby's ear falling into my mouth. I don't take it out. I just let it sit in there.

"Ed, I brought Dada," Al says. I didn't see him come in. He sits down on one side of me and Dada sits on the other. I don't say anything. All I can do is cry.

"Some nightmare, huh?" Dada asks softly. "Is it okay if I put my arm around you?" I nod so he does. "Hush, baby, it's okay. It's okay." I keep crying but it's slowing down now. I'm not crying nearly as hard. Dad talks softly to me, assuring me that I'm safe. My heart returns to normal and my chest isn't falling in anymore. I wipe my face, taking Lamby's ear out of my mouth. I don't usually suck on him. Not anymore. I've outgrown it.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dad offers.

"I…. It was about Mom," I say. "She said she hated me." My lip trembles and I shake my head. "I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

"That's okay," Dada says gently, "That sounds terrible, honey." I don't say anything so Dada kisses my hair before saying, "I'll tell you something about Mom, Ed. She loved you. She loved you so, so much. I know you know that, but it's nice to be told, isn't it?" I nod, a little wail escaping my lips.

"I miss Mom," I whimper. Dada kisses my hair again and sighs sadly.

"I do, too," he replies.

"Me too," Al adds quietly.

"Ed, wanna sleep with me?" Dada asks. I nod pathetically.

"Uh-huh," I say like a little kid.

"Why don't you try going pee and I'll meet you in my room," Dad suggests. I nod and Dad stands. He kisses my forehead and whispers to Al that if he wants to come sleep with us he can. Al nods and Dada kisses his forehead too. I strap my leg on and stand, still sniffling.

"You okay?" Al asks worriedly, taking my hand. I nod.

"I guess," I answer softly.

"I'll go with you," Al tells me. "If you get scared I'll be outside waiting for you." I nod again and Al leads me out of our room. It's weird being on this end. While Al does comfort me after nightmares, it's usually the other way around. I usually don't need to hold Al's hand or carry Lamby around after a bad dream. But tonight, after what I dreamed about, I guess that I need to. We get to the bathroom and Al lets go of my hand. He tells me he's gonna go pee before we go to Dad's room and I walk inside. I pee and when I'm done I stare at the mirror. My lip quivers and before I can stop myself I'm speaking.

"I'm a bad boy," I whisper so Al can't hear. I sniffle loudly and try not to start crying again. I grip the edge of the sink and say, "I'm a bad boy."

"Ed?" Al asks from the other side of the door. I don't answer him.

"I'm a bad boy," I repeat.

"Ed, hurry up," Al says urgently. "I have to pee!" I nod and wipe my face. I leave the bathroom and Al shuffles in after me. I sigh, wondering when I'll stop thinking those things when I look at myself in the mirror. How much longer will it be before that habit dies? I don't know but I hope it's soon. Al finishes in the bathroom and takes my hand. We walk to Dada's room together and Al opens the door. Al lets go of my hand and we both crawl up on Dada's bed. Dad glances over at me and asks,

"You okay, Brother?" I nod.

"Yeah," I reply. "I'll be okay."

"Wanna talk some more about it?" Dada yawns.

"No," I answer, "I don't want to talk about it, Dada."

"That's fine, honey," Dad tells me. "That's fine. Dada's here now, Ed. You're safe." I nod and Al inches closer to Dada. Dad kisses my forehead and I close my eyes.

"Love you, Dada," I whisper.

"Love you too, Ed," Dada whispers back. "Sweet dreams, boys." I nod, falling asleep to Al's constant breathing and Dada's light snoring.

I always feel bad when we sleep in Dada's bed and pee in it. I mean, he's never angry but I feel bad. Al feels the same way. It's like…. I don't know. He already does so much laundry. To have to strip his big bed and wash his pajamas with ours just seems like so much more work. I don't know. I play with my food, anxiety gnawing at me. In just an hour or so, we'll be in the car on our way to Nana Elric's. Ugh, Nana Elric's. Why does she want us to sleep over again? Oh, yeah. Farmer's market. Black Friday. But, God! Doesn't she know what sleeping over does to me and Al? You'd think she would! Maybe when Dada called he didn't tell her just how bad our sleeping issues are to spare our pride. But right about now, I don't care if Nana Elric knows. If she did, I wouldn't have to sleep at her house until Friday. Someone comes into the dining room and I look up. It's Al. He's got Chico under his arm and Picard at his heels. He sits down, a plate of food in front of him (I made him some lunch and put it there before he came in) and shoves it away.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Picard's gonna be lonely, Brother," Al tells me miserably. He sets his elbow on the table and his face rests in that hand as he says, "I know Teacher will take good care of him but he doesn't know Teacher very well. And what if she brings Wyatt over? He could pull Picard's tail or chase him or scare him and we should just stay home so Picard won't be scared." Picard brushes up against my leg and I sigh.

"I don't think Teacher'd bring the Nugget," I reply. "He's got all those behavioral problems and could hurt Captain. Don't worry about him, 'kay? We'll be home on Friday and then you can cuddle him as much as you want." Al nods but still looks worried.

"You finished packing?" Al asks anxiously.

"Uh, yeah," I say. "I just hope I brought enough clothes." Al nods.

"Me too," Al agrees. "I think I've accounted for anything to happen but I could be wrong." When he's done talking Al groans and lowers his head on to the table.

"You gonna throw up?" I ask lightly. I'm trying to get Al's mind off how anxious he is by teasing him a little.

"Uh, maybe," Al replies, grinning. He sits up and grabs his fork. "Where's Dada?"

"Filling the car up," I explain. "He'll be back soon. When he is, we're leaving. I think he's also picking up some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?" Al asks, taking a bite.

"Beats me," I say with a shrug. "Maybe extra sheets so Nana doesn't need to worry about it? I don't know."

"Are we sharing a room?" Al asks nervously.

"I think so," I answer. "Nana's house isn't that big, Al. I think there's only one bed in the room so we'll sleep together." Al nods and continues eating.

"Good," he says after swallowing. "I don't think I could sleep alone."

"Me either," I agree.

"Boys?" Dada calls from the door. "Where are your bags?"

"Garage, Dada," I answer.

"Thanks, Ed," Dada says. I hear the door to the garage open and I groan.

"This is it," I complain, standing. Al nods, finishes his food, and stands. We both rinse our plates, put them in the dishwasher, and go through the list we made. We were both really anxious about the packing thing so we made a list we could follow and check off as we packed to make it easier on us.

"Okay," I begin, "Do you have Chico?"

"Yup," Al answers.

"Did you pack lots of jammies?" I ask.

"Yup," Al says again.

"Did you bring stuff to block out our family with?" I ask. Al giggles lightly and nods. "Good boy," I praise, ruffling his hair.

"Your turn," Al says. "Did you pack Lamby?"

"Yup," I answer.

"Blankie?"

"Got it," I say.

"Lots of extra jammies?" Al asks.

"Check," I reply.

"Things to ignore our family with?"

"Check," I repeat. Al holds out his fist and I tap it with mine.

"Good job, Brother," Al praises. "You did good."

"You too," I agree.

"Boys!" Dada calls from the garage. "Try to go pee and then we're leaving!"

"'Kay, Dada," I call back. Al starts shaking and I take his hand. "Don't worry, Ally," I tell him. "We'll be okay." Al nods and we walk to the bathroom. "You go first, 'kay?" Al nods again and goes inside. I lean up against the wall and Picard meows at me. I grin at him and squat down. He brushes up against my hand and I pet him.

"We'll miss you, Captain," I tell him softly. "You be good for Teacher, 'kay?" The door opens and I stand. Al whimpers and lifts Picard off the ground.

"I'll miss you, Picard," Al sniffles. I punch his arm lightly and go into the bathroom. I pee and when I'm done I stare at myself in the mirror. I know that I'm going to have nightmares at Nana Elric's and that I'll wet the bed at least one night. Maybe both. I wonder if she'll yell at me; if my relatives will find out and yell at me. I shake my head and leave the bathroom. I know nothing's gonna change but me worrying about it. But I can't help but worry. I watch Al cuddle Picard close to him and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Brother," I say gently. "Let's get going." Al nods and puts Picard down. He wipes his face, Picard staring at us.

"Bye, Picard," Al whimpers. I guide him to the garage and Dad smiles at us both.

"You kids ready?" He asks. "Do you have everything?"  
"We've checked, double checked, and triple checked," I reply. "We're ready to roll, Dada."

"Good," Dad says. "Then we should get going." I nod and we get in the car. I plug Dada's phone in the AUX and start the playlist I made for the ride down there. It's mostly crappy hip-hop like Fifth Harmony but they're good for driving. Very sing-a-long-able. Dada backs out and we're on our way.

"Dada?" Al asks from the back.

"Yeah?"

"What were you picking up?" Al asks.

"Oh," Dad replies. "I went to Wal-Mart and picked up some plastic sheets."

"Oh," Al breathes.

"Did you buy those alarm things too?" I ask.

"You can't really find those in a store, Ed," Dada tells me. "But I did order them. They'll be in sometime next week."

"Right," I say. I turn up the radio a bit and say, "What are we doing when we get there?"

"Not sure, Ed," Dada answers. "All I know is Nana Elric wants to take us out to dinner."

"Ugh," Al groans, "She wants to kill me, right? This is all an elaborate plot to kill me." Dad chuckles and shakes his hand.

"You silly boy," Dad laughs. "Nana Elric doesn't want to kill you."

"Then why is she doing this?" Al asks. I blink, realizing that this is the first time Nana's ever really been interested in spending time with us. When we were kids, she never invited us over or made an effort to get to know us that I know of. It's weird.

"Yeah, it's kinda sudden, Dada. What's up with that?" I ask.

"Well, I think she just wants to get to know you," Dada explains. "You're the only grandchildren she has that don't live in Urbana. Maybe she's just now realizing how little she knows about you."

"Maybe," I say, "But, Dada, she could have spent time with us growing up. Why didn't she?"

"Ed, you don't remember, but when you were little she visited often and we visited her," Dad says sadly. "It's not until…. Well, Van…. She decided to cut us off from the Elrics. Said there was too much tension between myself and Trisha's family. Besides, we were supposedly starting one of our own. Thought it was best to distance ourselves from them."  
"You mean she's the reason they all hate us?" I cry.

"Well, hate's a strong word, Ed," Dada tells me, "But yes. She's part of the reason there's tension there."

"How come she didn't want us to spend time with our family?" Al asks.

"It's complicated, baby," Dada sighs. "It's like I said – she felt like we should distance ourselves from Mom's family since we were starting a new one. I didn't realize it then, but she brought that up after the abuse had started."

"So she was covering her tracks?" I ask, bile rising up in my throat.

"Yes," Dad says sadly. "And we've never been able to mend our relationship. I told the Elrics the basics but they're still bitter about it."

"That's not fair," Al points out. "It's not our fault it happened."

"You're right, Al," Dada agrees, "But it's the way it is, unfortunately."

"Let's stop talking about this," I blurt. I don't like talking about the abuse. I don't like talking about her. I don't like talking about any of it. So I wanna stop. I just want to listen to Fifth Harmony and car sing with Al.

"Alright," Dada agrees. I smile and turn the radio up. Al laughs at me as I sing along, the conversation about the Elrics dying out just as quickly as it started.

Top Down by Fifth Harmony's what's playing when we make it to Nana Elric's neighborhood. Up until this point, I haven't been too anxious. Now I feel like I'm going to throw up and my stomach's gonna go along for the ride. I'm gonna puke up my stomach. Al's anxious too, his hands twisting the fabric of his shirt as Dada drives to Nana's house. It's the afternoon and I know that Nana's gonna want to go out to dinner soon. She's old. Old people eat at like four in the afternoon, I think. So we'll leave at four, eat at five, and be back by six. Probably. I don't know. I don't know if I can handle a restaurant. I know for sure that Al can't. He's gonna have a panic attack at the restaurant. He's gonna start wheezing, throw up (or pee), then scream and cry in front of all those people. I shudder at the idea as the car stops. I look around and decide we're here. I mean, old people have lots of shit on their lawn, right? Well, the lawn's got those deer statues and bird feeders so yeah. This has to be her place.

"We're here," Dada announces as if we haven't figured that out already.

"Dada," Al whines, "My tummy's upset. Let's go home." Dad turns around and smiles at him.

"Let's tough it out," Dada suggests. "You like Nana Elric and she's not mean. Let's just give it a try tonight and see how it goes. If you really don't like it, we won't stay overnight tomorrow. Sound fair?" Al and I exchange glances and we nod.

"Yeah," I say, "But what about Nana? Won't her feelings get hurt if we don't stay?"

"Sweetie, Nana will understand," Dada assures me. "You boys may not be ready to stay that long away from home and she'll understand. She loves you."

"She does?" Al asks softly.

"Of course she does," Dad answers. "You're her grandchildren. She loves you two so much." We stare at Dada for a minute before he says, "C'mon, boys. Let's get our things." We nod and get out of the car. I hurry to the back and take Al's hand. We help Dada with the bags and walk to the door. Dad rings the doorbell and we wait. My heart pounds anxiously as I wait to see Nana Elric for the first time since Easter. The door opens and Nana Elric smiles at us. She has Mom's smile, so it calms me down a bit. Actually, she looks a lot like Mom. Well, I guess that Mom looked a lot like her. Whatever.

"Victor," she greets, kissing Dad's cheek. "I'm so happy you three were able to visit." Dad nods and Nana Elric lets us in. We're still holding hands and Nana says, "Put those bags down, boys. I'll take them up to your room after while." We obey, Al whimpering and standing closer to me.

"How have you been, Ma?" Dada asks. I actually forgot that Nana Elric is Dad's mother-in-law. He calls her Ma. When I was little I'd call Nana Elric Ma too 'cause that's what Dada called her.

"Oh, I've been alright," Nana replies. "I finally got a second horse so Ulysses isn't lonely anymore."

"You have horses?" Al asks excitedly. Nana nods and walks over to him

"I sure do," she answers, "You little sweet thing. How are you, Ally?"

"Fine," Al says, Nana Elric kissing his forehead.

"You've gotten so big," she comments. "Look at you! You look so much like Trisha." Al hums happily and Nana moves on to me. "And you! You're so big now, Ed! You've grown so much since Easter!"

"Thanks, Nana," I say, Nana ruffling my hair.

"You're sixteen now, right?" Nana asks.

"Nope," I answer, "My birthday's in February, remember, Nana?" Nana Elric shakes her head.

"Of course," she says. "The third, right, Edward?"  
"Yup," I chirp.

"How are you, sweetie?"

"I'm fine," I answer.

"Nana," Al says, squirming on his feet. "Nana, I wanna see the horses? Can I, Nana? Can I?"

"Sure, sweetie," Nana replies. "I can teach you and Ed to ride if you want."

"Can we, Dada?" Al begs, his big eyes staring at him.

"Sure," Dad says, "Go head, boys. I'll get your room ready."

"And then you'll watch us, right?" Al asks.

"Of course, baby," Dada says. He kisses both of us and says, "Have fun, boys." We nod and Nana leads us outside. There's a large fenced off area in her yard and inside are two horses. Nana takes us to the fence and points to the large grey horse with a black mane.

"That's Ulysses," Nana tells us. She points to the speckled brown and white horse and says, "That's Spots. They're both friendly, so don't be afraid."

"We won't be," we say in unison.

"Have you ever ridden before?" Nana asks.

"No," we say.

"Well, it's fairly simple," she says. "You have to work as a unit with the horse. Don't push him to go where he doesn't want to. Just guide him and let him do all the hard work. Understand?"

"Nana, do we wear helmets?" Al asks.

"Of course," Nana answers. "If you got thrown off and hit your head, you'd die probably if you didn't have a helmet."

"Oh," Al breathes. "That's kinda scary. Will a horse throw me? Or will I get trampled? I really don't wanna die today." Nana chuckles at him and shakes her head fondly.

"Why don't you boys go meet the horses before you decide to ride?" Nana suggests. "If you're too scared today, we can try to squeeze in riding before dinner if you want."

"That sounds good," I say. I take Al's hand and say, "C'mon, Al. Let's go meet the horses." Al nods and I open the fence. The horses ignore us as we walk in, Al shutting the gate behind us.

"I like that one," Al says, pointing to Spots. "He's pretty."

"Let's meet him first, then," I say. Al nods and I guide him over to Spots. He's bigger now than he was from the fence. He almost towers over us. He's got a big head and huge brown eyes and strong looking legs. We stop a few inches in front of him and neither of us are sure what to do. We've never been around horses before. Slowly, Al inches closer and reaches a hand toward the horse's nose. He makes contact, giggling lightly as the horse steps closer.

"His nose is so soft, Brother!" Al says happily. "Feel it!" I put my hand next to Al's and gasp; it's so soft! Way softer than I imagined. I scratch his nose, Spots rubbing his nose all over my hand. Al moves to his neck, rubbing it all over. Ulysses trots over to us, snorting until Al pays attention to him. Al giggles and pets Ulysses, whispering softly to the horse.

"You're a good boy, aren't you?" he whispers. "Yes, you are. Yes, you are." Al hugs Ulysses' thick neck and I grin. Horses are awesome, I think. Not even ten minutes with them brought out a side of Al I haven't seen in a while. I pat Spots' neck and turn to Al.

"You wanna ride?" I ask. Al nods eagerly.

"Yeah!" He cries. He turns to Nana and calls, "Nana! I wanna ride Ulysses!"

"Alright, Ally, hold on," she calls back. "Ed, you want Spots?"

"Yup!" I yell.

"Let me get you boys saddles," she says loudly. She disappears and Al's getting licked by Ulysses.

"That tickles!" Al cries happily. "Stop, Ulysses!"

"Looks like he likes you," I comment. Al laughs.  
"Good 'cause I like him too!" Al says happily. "I didn't realize horses were so big, Brother! Look at them! They're so big!"

"Yeah, Ally, they are," I say, amused at how much Al's like a little kid when he's excited. Al squirms, an excited squeal escaping his lips.

"I want a horse," he says.

"Try convincing Dada we need one," I laugh.

"I think I could pull it off," Al tells me, a hand on Ulysses' neck. "I mean, I did get him to adopt Picard."

"Actually you did it without asking and I convinced Dada to let you keep him," I point out.

"Oh, yeah," Al chuckles. "Guess that is how that happened. Well, with your help I bet we could convince him we need a horse."

"You boys ready?" Nana asks, walking closer. We both nod.

"I'm ready!" Al cries eagerly. "Teach me to ride, Nana!"

"Calm down, sweetie," she laughs. "I will. I will." Al's so excited I think he might explode.

Nana helps us on the horses and guides them for a bit. She walks us through the basics, Dada watching from the fence. I bet he's nervous but Nana Elric won't let anything bad happen to us. I actually forgot how much I liked Nana. She's nice and funny and really cares about us. When she thinks we're ready, she lets go of the reigns and steps out of the pen. Al and I ride in circles around the pen, laughing 'cause we're on horses. We've never been on a horse before. All that anxiety about dinner and about sleeping over have melted away. I'm sure they'll come back when I'm confronted with those things but right now I'm happy. I wave at Dada as I walk by and Dada waves back. Al giggles like a little kid and I glance up. The clouds roll over head, the sky turning pink and orange as the sun begins to set.

Soon, we'll have to stop. Soon we'll have to wash our hands and pick a place we want to eat. Soon I'll have to face my fears and be brave. But right now, I don't have to worry about that. Right now, I'm happy. I'm brave right now. Hopefully that bravery will carry the rest of the time I'm here. Spots whinnies and I grin. I pet his neck and whisper into his ear. I'll like it at Nana Elric's I decide. Even if my family's a bunch of assholes, she's not. Nana and Dada will protect me from my crappy family and I'm going to have fun. Al and I are going to enjoy ourselves. The sun continues to set and I close my eyes. I imagine that I can ride Spots over this fence and into the sunset. Where would I go? I don't know. But I do know that wherever that sunset leads, I'm better. I'm better there. A smile grows across my face. I'm going to get there. Maybe not on a horse, but I will. Someday.


	20. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like birds and scrap booking, am I right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Just letting you guys know that there's two panic scenes in this chapter but they're brief. Just letting you know so you're prepared. Anyway, enjoy!

Nana picks Applebee's for dinner. Dada makes us wash our hands and he says he'll drive so she won't have to. I guess old people don't like driving when it gets dark. I don't know. Even though riding Spots has helped my anxiety, I can feel it crawling back up in my chest. Restaurants are loud; they're loud and crowded and freak me out in general. But I can handle it, mostly. I can sit down, eat, socialize, and leave no harm no foul. But Al – Al can't. That many people, that much noise, freaks him out. He can't breathe. His throat closes and panic overtakes every part of him. He's gonna have a panic attack. I can feel it. He's gonna throw up all over the table (and himself) or he's gonna pee and then he's gonna start wheezing. He might even have a flashback and start screaming. I shudder at the thought of that happening. Dada's in the front seat of our car talking with Nana. She asked how work was. I glance over at Al who's pale. I sigh, wondering if there's a way to convince Nana that eating at home is better. I mean, I guess she doesn't want to cook dinner the day before Thanksgiving but still. Al's not ready for restaurants. He's not. And that's okay. We can't push him to do things before he's ready. That always backfires.

"Uh, Dada?" I ask.

"What's up, kiddo?" Dada replies in question.

"Well, um, Al's not doing so good," I say. "We should go back, I think."

"Al?" Dada asks. Al shakes his head, unable to say anything because he's scared he'll throw up if he does. "Al, are you okay?" Al shakes his head again, trying wordlessly to convey how not ready he is to do this.

"See?" I question. "Al's not ready. We should go back and order pizza or something." Dad frowns.

"Al, I know you're anxious," Dada begins gently, "But I think you should give it a try. Remember a few weeks ago? You went into a restaurant and ate just fine. Well, mostly. I think you can do it, baby." Al blinks, a whimper escaping his lips.

"Dad," I groan, "Dad, he can't. He's not ready. Don't make him."

"Well, Ed, we're guests right now," Dad tells me. "So Al has two options. I can leave him at Nana's alone to fend for himself or he can go to dinner with us."

"But Dada!" I cry, outraged. "That's not fair to Al! He's not ready! It's not his fault!"

"Edward," Dad warns, "Don't yell at me."

"But you're not listening!" I yell. "He's gonna freak out! We have to go home!"

"Edward, don't yell at me again," Dad scolds. "You won't like what happens if you do." I blink, sweat rolling down my neck. What would happen if I yelled again? I lick my lips and for some reason, I want to test the water. I want to see what Dada would do if I yelled at him again. It's like I'm thirteen again and doing bad things just to see what would happen. So I stomp my feet a little and glare at him.

"You're a bastard," I sneer. "You don't care about Al."

"Brother," Al breathes.

"Edward!" Nana cries, "Don't you talk about your father that way, young man!" I cross my arms.

"Yeah?" I huff. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Edward, that's enough," Dad snaps. "I don't know what's gotten into you but I'm taking you back to Nana's house. You can stay in your room without supper."

"Can Al stay too?" I ask angrily.

"No." Uh-oh. This backfired. This backfired so badly. I lick my lips again and lean forward in my seat.

"You can't," I say frantically. "Al needs me!"

"You should have thought of that before you called me a bastard, Ed," Dad tells me. "Choices have consequences."

"I know that!" I cry. "But, Dada, Al can't go without me! You know that!"

"Al will just have to be brave," Dad replies. He's reaching an intersection and I know he's gonna turn around.

"Dad, wait," I say, my lip quivering. "Don't leave me at Nana's alone. Please, Dada. I'm sorry, really! I don't wanna be by myself!"

"You're fifteen, Ed," Dad says. "You're old enough to stay by yourself."

"But I don't wanna!" I cry. I know I'm acting like a spoiled little kid but I don't care. Al needs me. He needs me to hold his hand and keep him safe. A few tears roll down my face and I say, "I'm sorry, Dada! I didn't mean it! Please don't make me stay at Nana's alone! I'll be good!" Dad sighs and gets out of the left turn lane.

"One more outburst from you and you're staying at Nana's whether you like it or not," Dad tells me. I exhale only to see Al move in my peripheral vision.

"Dada, I don't feel good," Al whines.

"You're just anxious, baby," Dad assures him. "Just try to relax. You have your Chico and Brother's not going anywhere. You're okay, honey, I promise." I take Al's hand and he looks gratefully at me.

"Hey, Dad?" I say.

"What, Ed?"

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I really am." Dad sighs again.

"I know you are, honey," Dada tells me, "But you can't throw a fit and expect to get your way. You know better." I nod before hanging my head.

"I know," I mumble.

"You're not a little kid anymore, Ed," Dad goes on. "You need to act fifteen, okay?"

"Okay," I say softly, falling back in my seat.

"Dada, acting like a teenager is hard," Al says.

"I know," Dada replies sadly, "But you have to try. That's part of recovering, boys. You're not little kids and you need to act that way."

"But it's scary!" Al cries.

"Alphonse, it's alright," Dada soothes. "You're okay. Just relax."

"Would you boys like to try to ride horses again tomorrow before dinner?" Nana asks. I guess she's trying to get our minds off the talk we're having with Dada. Al nods pathetically. "I don't know if we'll have time, but we'll try to fit it in somewhere if you boys want to ride."

"Yeah, okay," I answer out loud. I can see Nana smile Mom's smile in the rearview mirror and it calms me down a bit.

"You were getting the hang of it pretty fast," Nana says. "I was impressed."  
"Al and I are notoriously fast learners," I tell her lightly. "We can pick things up pretty quick."

"Trish was like that," Nana says. "She picked up quilting in a week when it took me years to learn. It's a good skill to have."

"Mom was like that?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," Dada answers. "She was so perceptive and could see patterns. It helped her learn things so much quicker than normal people. You boys are so much like her."

"I never knew that about Mom," I say quietly.

"You didn't?" Nana questions. I shake my head and Nana turns to Dada; "Don't you talk about Trisha to the boys, Victor?"

"Not as much as I probably should," Dada admits softly. "It's just… Trisha was the love of my life. When I lost her, it was like a piece of me died, too. Talking about her hasn't gotten easier, even all these years later."

"It's been ten years," Nana reminds him. "Almost eleven coming up in April. The boys were so young when she passed on. You need to talk to them about her. They can barely remember who she was."

"I suppose," Dad says sadly.

"I remember Mom," I say, almost defensively. "We both do! She used buy flowers all the time even though she killed them. Remember, Al?" Al shakes his head.

"No," Al says quietly.

"Oh," I breathe. "Well, remember the way she used to wear her hair?"

"No," Al says again, his voice strained. I blink. Al doesn't remember Mom. He rubs at his eyes and says, "Sorry. I don't remember much about Mom. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, sweetheart," Dada says. "You were so little when she died. You weren't even four yet."

"But I wanna remember her," Al says pitifully. He looks down at his lap and says, "I'm a bad son if I don't."

"Alphonse, that's not true," Dada assures him. "It's not your fault that you don't remember some things about Mom. People don't get good memories until after they're three or four. It's not your fault."  
"I bet you can remember one thing about Mom," I tell him. Al glances up at me and sniffles.

"What?"

"That she loved you," I say. Al blinks before a smile spreads across his face.

"Yeah," he says. "Mom loved me."

"See?" Dada says. "You remember Mom. And I'll try to talk about her more to you boys. It's important to talk about her." We both nod.

"Okay, Dada," I say.

"I wanna hear all about Mom," Al adds.

"Then over dinner I'll tell stories about her," Nana Elric says. "You boys should know who your mother was." We nod again. Learning about Mom sounds good to me. I wonder if I'm like Mom. I mean, I know Al is. He can't really remember, but Mom was nice like he is. She was gentle and patient and Al's all those things. Maybe if Nana tells stories about Mom, Al will remember more things about her. I don't know. I just know one thing – I really miss Mom today.

We get to the restaurant and Al's shaking. I take his hand and squeeze it. He's got Chico but I don't think it's helping. Not only is he going inside a restaurant, he's going inside a restaurant in Urbana. He barely knows Urbana. So he's double scared. I guide him inside and it's not as busy as I feared. I check my watch and see it's earlier than I thought it was. It's only five fifteen. I guess I lost track of time while horseback riding. Al quivers and slowly inches closer to me. I squeeze his hand again and whisper softly to him that it'll be okay. We get seated and get drinks almost right away. Al's shaking beside me, his eyes planted firmly on his lap. Chico's tucked tightly under his arm and Dad keeps glancing over at him. I think he knows this'll end one of two ways. Either Al will be quiet but not have a panic attack or he's gonna have a panic attack. There's no third option where Al enjoys dinner. No, he doesn't get that luxury that so many people take for granted. Instead he has to sit and cower because he's always anxious. He's always scared. The waitress comes back and takes our order. I order for Al because he can't talk right now. He points at what he wants and I tell her. She seems kinda weirded out by Al and I hope Al doesn't notice. While we wait for food, Nana asks me about school.

"It's fine," I say, running my thumb against my glass. "I mean, I do well and I' in some hard math and science classes. The normal classes are too easy and I need to challenge myself."

"You're your father's son, alright," Nana Elric comments. "Do you both like those subjects?" I nod.

"Yup," I reply. "Al likes 'em, too. School's going fine for him, too."  
"That's good," Nana says. "I'm glad. You know, I'm glad you boys came up to visit me. It's been so long since we've spent time together." I grin at her.

"I am too," I say. "I was kinda anxious about it but I'm fine now."

"That's good, Ed," Dada tells me.

"Well, I'm still anxious about Elric Thanksgiving but I'll live through that," I clarify. At the mention of Elric Thanksgiving, Al whimpers pathetically. He scoots down in his seat, shaking violently. "Hey," I say gently. "You're okay." Al shakes his head.

"I wanna go home," he says miserably. "Dada, take me home. I can't do this right now."

"Ally, you're doing fine, baby," Dada encourages. "Tough it out just a bit more, okay?" Al's lip trembles and I know what's about to happen. He's about to explode and go into full-out panic mode. So I stand and pull Al to his feet.  
"Let's take a walk, Al," I say. Al nods and covers his ears with his hands.

"It's too loud, Brother," he whimpers.

"Then let's go outside," I suggest. "C'mon, buddy."

"Go on, baby," Dada encourages. "Go someplace to calm down." I pull on Al's shirt and try to command him to walk. He doesn't budge, his feet planted firmly on the floor.

"Ally, c'mon," I say. "Let's go take a walk."

"It's too loud," Al says again. "There's…. I can't…." Al starts wheezing and I pull harder on his clothes.

"Brother, come on," I struggle. "If you can't breathe in here let's go where you can breathe." Al shakes his head and his lip quivers. It's over. He's not going anywhere. He's gonna have a panic attack right here in this restaurant. But I'm not gonna give up. I'm gonna get him outside one way or another.

"Move your legs, Alphonse," I say, tugging on his shirt. "I'll keep you safe, I promise. Let's just go outside."

"I-I c-can't…br-breathe," he stutters. I let go of his shirt and reach for his arm. As soon as I make contact, I wish I hadn't. Al's whole body seizes up and before I know it he's under the table. He's whimpering and crying and I know I messed up. Dada stands and walks over to me, shaking his head.

"Oh, dear," Nana Elric mumbles, trying to hide her face from the eyes of everyone looking as Al spirals further into panic mode.

"I tried, Dada," I say pathetically. Dad places a hand on my shoulder and sighs.

"I know," he answers. "I guess Al really wasn't ready." I want to say "I told you so" but decide to hold my tongue. I almost got in trouble once today and I don't want to risk that again.

"I might be able to calm him down," I say. "Give me a minute." Dad moves his hand and I crouch down. I get on my hands and knees, Al staring at me fearfully. He shakes his head, whimpering for me to stay away.

"Ally," I coo, "It's me. It's Brother." I know everyone in the restaurant is watching. I know because it's dead silent outside of a few dishes clanking together and Al's haggard crying. It's hard to focus when everyone's watching but I do my best. I do my best for Al who needs me to take care of him.

"I-I c-c-can't…." Al trails off, unable to breathe.

"In through your nose, out through your mouth," I coach gently. Al tries but all he can do is cough and wheeze. I can tell he's frustrated so I say, "I'll breathe with you, okay? Ready?" Al nods and I say, "In…." We both take a breath, mine significantly deeper than his; "And out." We exhale together and repeat the process. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over again until Al's silently crying. I cautiously reach for him and he doesn't flinch. Instead he takes my hand, his thumb shakily rubbing the back of my hand.

"It's okay," I comfort. "It's okay. You're okay, Al. That scary stuff's gone and you're okay."

"I wanna go outside," Al tells me pathetically.

"Okay, let's go outside, Al," I say. Al blinks and doesn't move like he's just realized going outside exposes him to everyone here. Everyone's still staring at us and I know it'll be a while before they stop. Al whimpers, blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. I think he just realized the whole restaurant is staring at him. That or he peed himself. Could be both. It's probably both.

"Ed," Dada says softly, "Nana's switched our order so it's to-go."

"'Kay," I answer.

"We should get Al out of here," Dada says.

"Yeah, okay," I agree, "Hold on." I crawl under the table, Al scooting over to accommodate me. He shifts his eyes away from me, shame written all over his face.

"I'm sorry," he says miserably. "I ruined dinner, didn't I?"

"Nah," I reply. "It's not your fault you weren't ready. It's okay." Al brings his knees to his chest and sighs.

"But I've been in therapy for two years," Al counters softly. "Everyone keeps saying how I'm making progress and that I'm getting better but I can't even eat in a restaurant without panicking. What's wrong with me, Brother?" Tears start falling down his face again, snot getting mixed in as he asks, "Why can you do it but I can't? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," I say instantly. "It's just, well, we process differently, I guess. You can do lots of things I can't do."

"Like what?" Al scoffs.

"You can have one-on-one conversations with adults way better than I can," I say. "You're more open to admitting you need help than I do. You're more okay with relying on others than I am."

"But none of that stuff matters, Brother," Al argues pitifully.

"'Course it does," I say. "You just can't see it, that's all." Al doesn't say anything so I say, "Ready to go outside." Al nods and I notice his cheeks are still super flushed.

"I, uh," Al stammers.

"Did you….?" I ask without saying it so I won't embarrass him anymore. Al nods shamefully and I sigh. I pull my jacket off and hand it to him. He ties it around his waist and takes my hand. I help him to his feet and Dada and I shuffle him out. Once we're outside, Al starts crying again.

"I'm sorry, Dada," he wails, "I'm sorry." Dad pulls him in close and pets his hair.

"You know what, honey? I'm sorry, too." Al looks up at him and Dada says, "I pushed you into something you weren't ready for. That was wrong and I'm sorry."

"I'm a bad boy," Al whimpers. Dada sighs and kisses Al's forehead.

"No," Dad whispers. "No, you're not. Don't say that, Al. You're not a bad boy."

"Dada," I say, "Is Nana mad?" Dad shakes his head.

"No," Dad tells me. "She is worried, though. Never seen Al have a panic attack before. I know I was terrified the first time I saw it." Yeah, that's true. See, Al's been anxious since she started hitting us. He shook, he cried, he was shy. But after she got arrested, the panic attacks started. I think they started 'cause Al and I have so many built up emotions from growing up and we don't know what to do with them. We're scared. We're angry. We don't understand why someone did that to us. We're depressed. We're lonely. So we panic. All those confusing things get jumbled up together in a mess of tears and screaming. And the first time Dada saw one of us have one, he freaked out.

It was two weeks after she got arrested. We hadn't started therapy yet. It was summer and Dada needed to go to the grocery store. Granny was working and so was Winry (Winry works when someone calls in) so no one could watch us. Neither of us were ready to stay home alone so Dada had to bring us. Al and I held hands and once we got into the store, Al lost it. He couldn't handle all the noise and people on the inside of the building. It pulled him back; pulled him to a time where she was hurting him and screaming at him. And there was nothing we could do. Since we weren't in therapy back then, neither of knew how to remind Al to breathe. We didn't know how to coach him through it. So all we could do was watch. Everyone in the store gathered around and watched as Al struggled to breathe. I decided after a few minutes that I had enough so I tried talking to him. I was soft and I was gentle and slowly Al calmed down. We had to go home, though, 'cause there was no way Al was going any farther in. So Dad left us at home and we slept until he got back. That was a bad day.

"I didn't mean to worry Nana," Al says miserably. Dada shakes his head and brushes hair out of Al's face.

"It's okay, baby," Dad tells him gently. "Nana's worried because she cares about you."

"Victor," Nana says, walking over with a big bag of food. "Is he alright?" Al hides behind me and Dada nods.

"He's alright," Dad replies. "Going out in public gives Al really bad anxiety. I shouldn't have pushed him to do this. It's on me." Nana exhales in relief.

"I'm glad he's alright," Nana says. "You worried me, Ally."

"I'm sorry," Al squeaks.

"Leave him alone," I say instantly, forgetting who I'm talking to. My eyes widen and I cover my mouth, saying "Sorry," from behind it.

"It's alright," Nana assures me. "You're the best person to protect your brother. I understand." I nod. No one, not even Dada, can take care of Al like I can. When Al has panic attacks, I'm the one who calms him down. When Al doesn't eat, Dada can't get him to; I can. When Al forgets to shower I'm the one that reminds him to without making him feel stupid or guilty. No one can take care of Al like me.

"Let's head home," Dada suggests. "Al tends to get tired after a panic attack and I want him to eat."

"C'mon, Ally," I say gently. "Let's get in the car." Al nods and allows me to guide him into the car. Nana sits up front with Dada and we don't talk again until we get back to Nana Elric's house.

We eat dinner at Nana's house and all anyone can talk about is Elric Thanksgiving. People will start showing up tomorrow around three. Great. I guess Al and I can stay hidden in our room until dinner and we can go back upstairs after dinner. I don't want to talk to my relatives and I don't want them talking to me. They always treat me weird; like I'm dirty or something. It's like Al and I are the black sheep of the family. I think part of it is that they simply don't know how to talk to abuse survivors. But I also think it's 'cause they don't like Dad. Dad moved back to Resembool with Mom. Dad "took Mom away" from her family and they hate him for it. That's so dumb. Nana Elric really likes Dad and likes Al and me too. So why can't the rest of the family get on board with that? I just hate the way the talk to Al and me. Last year, one of our cousins asked Al all sorts of questions about the abuse. They asked him what it was like, what she did to us, how bad it hurt – that sort of thing. They even asked him if she did sex stuff to us. That's why he threw up at Uncle George's house and ruined Uncle George's new carpet. It wasn't his fault. He just can't handle being asked questions about the abuse. I can't either. So that's why I hate Elric family functions. I wish they'd either full-out hate us and kick us out of the family or love us instead of kind of hating us and forcing us to show up to all their functions.

After dinner Al and I tiredly play Pokémon in Nana's living room while she and Dad watch the news. Dad tells her all about his trip next week and makes me feel even worse than I already to. Taking a trip right after Elric Thanksgiving is a douche move if you ask me. I mean, Al and I will have leftover anxiety about Thanksgiving and then have to deal with the anxiety of him leaving for a week. I mean, I know it's a conference and that it's part of his job but still – it sucks. Sucks for Al and me, anyway. And while Granny's nice and Winry's our friend, I don't know if they can take care of us. Well, I don't know if they can take care of me. I'll take care of Al. I always do. I'll make sure he gets enough sleep, that he eats, that he gets his homework done, and that he's clean. That's my job. But those three days Dada spent away a couple years ago, Granny did her best but I wasn't taken care of. She just can't get me to take care of myself like Dad can. Al can do it to but…. I don't know. It's like Al's so stressed out he can't think properly so he forgets to take care of both himself and me. So yeah. I'll probably forget a lot of things next week. I just hope everyone will be patient with me.

I've been staring at the ceiling for a while now. I figured that I would have problems falling asleep. I don't like sleeping in a new place. Al's sleeping beside me and I'm jealous. I'm so tired but I can't fall asleep. I sit up, the plastic beneath the sheets crinkling as I move. I strap my leg on and walk down stairs. No one's up except me. I turn the light on and sit on the couch. Nana's got all these books under her coffee table but I don't know what they are. I stare at them before I grab one. It's a photo album I think. I open it and realize it's not a photo album at all – it's a scrapbook. It's got all these birds inside. I stare at the page and flip it over. Cardinals, blue jays, and finches. It's just birds. It's all birds. Does Nana birdwatch? Or does she just scrapbook? I don't know. I don't know a lot of things about Nana Elric. I wish I did, though. She's super nice and reminds me of Mom. I quickly shut the book. I miss Mom. I stand up, leaving the book on the couch and start pacing. I miss Mom. Tears prick in the back of my eyes and I do my best to prevent them from falling. I miss Mama. I miss Mom. I miss Mom. I shake my head. Maybe I need a glass of water. That's what I need. I walk into the kitchen and turn the light on. I grab a glass and fill it with water. I sand with my back against the sink and hold the glass to my lips. I don't need water. I need Mom. I want Mama. I wipe my face with my free hand as I start shaking. I want Mom. I want Mama. I try to take a drink but pour it down my front instead.

"Shit," I whisper. My hands are shaking too hard. Is this what it's like to be Al? If so, I don't know how he functions. He's always shaking. His hands shake constantly. How does he even feed himself? I shake my head. I try again only to miss my mouth a second time. Damn it. Why am I so anxious? I don't understand. I groan and try to set the glass on the counter. I miss, though, and it goes crashing on to the ground. I cringe as it shatters.

"Oh, no," I breathe. That was loud. Everyone's gonna know I'm awake. I'm gonna get in trouble. I shake my head, the anxiety overtaking my body. I'm getting pulled away. I didn't mean to. It was an accident! My breath catches in my chest and I start wheezing. I don't know where I am. Where am I? Where's Dada? I want Dada! I fall on to my butt, scooting away from the broken glass. She's gonna find out and hit me or worse – hit Al! I whimper, my whole body shaking. I grip my hair tightly and start screaming. There's no words – just screaming.

"You bad boy. I can't believe you did that, you fuck up!"

"I-I'm sorry," I wheeze.

"How hard should I hit your brother for this?"

I shake my head. Don't hit Al! Don't hit him! It was my fault! All mine! "Leave Al alone!" I scream. "Just leave him alone! He didn't do anything!" I hear footsteps and instantly cover my face. Oh, God, here it comes. Here it comes. I stood up for Al. She's going to beat me for that. She always does.

"Edward."

I blink. That's not her voice. That's Dada's voice. I look up, relief washing over me when I see Dada kneeling down in front of me. I get on my knees and say, "Dada! She's gonna hit Al! W-We hafta f-find her!" Dad reaches out for me and I flinch. He sighs and pulls his hand away.

"Ed, sweetie, you're having a panic attack," he tells me. "No one is going to hurt Al." I blink, my heart pounding in my chest. But I…. I heard her voice! I look around and realize I'm at Nana's house. Oh. I fall back on my butt, a couple tears running down my face.

"Oh," I breathe like I've come up from under water.

"It's okay, baby," Dad coos. "It's okay. You're safe. It's okay." I sniffle loudly and wipe my face.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"Were you sleep walking?" Dada asks. I shake my head, still trying to get my lungs to work right. In through my nose, out through my mouth.

"I, uh, couldn't sleep," I tell him softly. "Thought a glass of water might help. But my hands were shaking. Sorry, Dada."

"Your anxiety's been awful lately," Dada sighs. "I'm so sorry, Ed. I wish I could have gotten you out of coming here." I nod. Yeah; part of me wishes I wasn't here. That I was at home in my own bed or maybe in Al's bed or even Dada's bed. But part of me's also glad I'm here. I like Nana Elric. I like getting to know her. I like her bird scrapbook. So I'm torn on this like I'm torn on everything.

"I know," I reply. "I like Nana, though. I like her bird scrapbook."

"Oh, do you?" Dada asks. I nod and Dad says, "I saw it on the couch but assumed Al had looked at it. She has more of them. She could show you boys tomorrow if you like."

"Does she just do the scrapbooking part?" I ask.

"No," Dada answers as I yawn. "Nana takes pictures of the birds when she goes bird watching then makes scrapbooks with the pictures she takes. Very crafty, don't you think?" I nod and yawn again. My eyes are itching.

"Mmm, yeah," I say sleepily. Dad smiles at me.

"You sleepy boy," he hums. Without asking Dada pulls me close and picks me up. I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh contently. This is one of my safest places. When Dada carries me around, I'm safe. I was safe here when I was kid and I'm safe here now. Dad kiss my forehead and whispers, "If you need something come get me, okay?" I nod.

"'Kay," I reply. Dada carries me to bed and puts me in it gently so we won't wake Al. But Al stirs anyway and sits up.

"Dada?" He asks.

"Go to sleep, Ally," Dad whispers. Al nods and lies back down. Dad tucks us in and I shut my eyes.

"Night, Al," I whisper, thinking Al's already asleep again.

"Night, Brother," Al says back in a sleepy voice. "Love you." I grin tiredly at him even though he can't see it.

"Love you, too," I say. "Sweet dreams." Al's breathing deepens and I know he's asleep again. I roll over on my side, Lamby held tightly between my arms. This is another one of my safest places. When Al's beside me, I'm safe. I curl up into a ball and soon, my breathing deepens too.


	21. Elric Family Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's Thanksgiving without turkey, football, and a little family drama?

Al's crying. I stir, trying to go back to sleep, when I realize he's crying. I don't know what time it is. It's semi-lit in the room, I think, as my eyes struggle to stay shut. But Al's crying. I can't sleep when Al's crying. I sit up, groaning when I realize the sheets are wet. If Al's crying, it was probably him. I rub at my eyes and look over at him. He just sitting there, sniveling. I stare at him and wonder if maybe he misses Mom. I know I do. Being with Nana, while Nana's nice and everything, makes me miss Mom. It's like when we visit Gracia. I like Gracia a lot. She's nice to me and pets my hair and talks all gentle to me. But she makes me miss Mom. Because Mom was nice to me and petted my hair and talked gentle to me. So being around Nana's like being around Gracia and that makes me miss Mom. I bet Al misses Mom, too. That's probably why he's crying. Well, part of the reason, anyway. I sigh and reach over. My hand rests on his hand and Al hiccups a bit.

"You okay?" I ask. Al nods and wipes his face. I check my watch and groan. It's eight in the morning. I don't think I fell asleep until, like, one and we both had nightmares. I wanna go back to sleep but can't 'cause the bed's wet.

"Sorry," Al says with a strained voice.

"Don't worry about it," I tell him. I strap on my leg and stand. "Let's get this cleaned up so we can sleep for a couple more hours." Al blinks at me before he grins weakly.

"I'd like to sleep more," he says. He gets up and I start stripping the bed. Al moves to help but I swat his hand away. "Hey," he whines.

"Just put clean clothes on," I tell him. Al stares at me before his eyebrows point downward.

"You don't have to do it for me," Al mumbles. "I'm not a baby." I shake my head.

"Al," I groan. "I've told you this a thousand times. I don't do it for you 'cause I think you're a baby. I do it for you 'cause I want to. I want to help you." Al blinks at me and sighs.

"Yeah, but…." He trails off before taking a deep breath. "You always take care of me. Isn't that annoying?" I blink at him as my brow furrows.

"No," I reply. "You're not annoying."

"I didn't ask that," Al tells me. "Isn't it annoying or frustrating or something having to take care of me all the time?" I frown. I've never thought about. I guess it can be tiring to take care of Al but it's part of me. It's my job – the only job I know how to do. Al means so much to me that taking care of him is second nature to me. But I guess…. I don't know. It can be exhausting sometimes. Like at two in the morning when Al's up crying and I'm fighting sleep but someone has to calm him down. Or when he's having a panic attack and nothing I do makes it better. Or when I can't get him to eat, even when he really needs to. But it's my job and I like doing it. So…. Yes?

"Well, I…. It's tiring sometimes," I finally tell him. Al looks a way guiltily and a continue, "But I like doing it. I like taking care of you. You're my brother, Al. I'd do anything for you." Al looks up at me.

"Really?" Al asks.

"Yeah," I reply with a smile. I frown again, realizing something. Part of Al learning to be more independent means not doing everything for him. So if he wants to help strip the bed and put clean sheets on it, I guess I should let him. But I never do 'cause I don't want him to think he's in trouble for wetting the bed. But he wants to help me. So I should let him? I don't know but before I can decide my lips move,

"Hey, uh, Al?"

"What?" Al asks.

"If you wanna, you can help I guess," I tell him.

"Really?" Al asks.

"Yeah," I say. Al doesn't know I'm trying to teach him to be independent. He doesn't know that me and Dada and Dr. Hughes are slowly trying to teach him to do things on his own and not rely on me so much. He doesn't know 'cause if he did, he'd feel guilty. Al feels guilty about lots of things. He feels guilty about Mom dying, feels guilty about the abuse, and feels guilty 'cause he's clingy. He depends on me a lot and feels bad about it. So he doesn't know just yet how we're trying to teach him to be independent 'cause it would make him feel bad. Al looks at me, a smile spreading across his face.

"I'll help, Brother!" He says happily. He helps me strip the bed and carries the sheets while I carry the comforter. I walk into the hallway and pause. "What's wrong, Ed?" Al asks.

"I don't know where to put this," I say. At home and at Granny's we just throw dirty laundry in a hamper or in the laundry chute. Nana didn't tell us where to put our laundry here, though. Neither did Dada.

"We can go ask Dad," Al says. He walks toward the room Dada's staying in and knocks. No one answers so we both go inside. Dad's not there so we try Nana's room. We peek inside and see she's not in there.

"Guess they're downstairs," I say. We walk downstairs with our pee-soaked blankets and pajamas, looking for Dada or Nana. We get to the living room and we nearly drop everything. Sitting on the sofa is Uncle George, his wife Karen, and their two kids. They stare at me and I feel vomit rising up in my throat. Al whimpers and hides behind me as they stare.

"Well," Uncle George mutters. "Forgot they were here." Aunt Karen's nose crinkles.

"Little old to be wetting the bed," she mocks, her kids snickering. Al starts crying and I drop the comforter after swallowing the barf in my mouth.

"Watch it," I warn.

"You have a bad attitude, Edward," Uncle George informs me. "You always have. No respect for authority."

"Oh, I have plenty of respect for authority," I argue. "I just don't have respect for assholes."

"Edward!"

I cringe and turn around. There in the doorway is Dada. He glares at me and I wave at him. "Morning, Dada," I greet with a nervous chuckle.

"You apologize to your uncle!" Dada demands loudly.

"But, Dad!" I cry. "He and Aunt Karen were teasing Al!" Dad peers around me and sees Al crying.

"Oh, dear," Dada says. He glances down at the comforter on the ground and sighs. He rubs his temples and says, "I forgot to tell you boys what to do if one of you wet the bed." I blush and nod.

"We came down here to find you," I tell him. "And now Al's crying." Dad collects the comforter from the ground.

"I'll deal with your uncle," Dad tells me. "You try to corral Al upstairs." I nod and walk over. Uncle George's kids make faces at me as I walk back over to Al. One of them's older than me (she's sixteen) and their son's thirteen. I glare at them as I walk over to Al but that angry look melts as soon as I'm in front of Al.

"Hey, buddy," I say gently. "Let's go upstairs, 'kay? We'll put on clean jammies, put new sheets on the bed, and sleep for a couple more hours. Sound good?" Al nods, but flinches as Dada and Uncle George get into a heated argument.

"I don't care that he called you an asshole if you're tormenting my son!" Dad yells. "You don't tease a child for bed wetting!"

"He's too old for it," Aunt Karen argues. "He's doing it on purpose."

"That's insane!" Dad cries. "What teenager would pee themselves on purpose?!"

"The kind that have no respect for authority," Uncle George says. "I knew you were no good, Hohenheim. I warned Trish about marrying you. All you've managed to produce is two rotten children." I see Al's whole demeanor change in that moment. He slouches over, defeat written all over his face. My heart slows and I stare at Dada. Dad's heaving angrily and I don't know how he's going to respond.

"I loved Trish," Dad begins softly. They've crossed a line, I think. Dada's voice sounds really hurt and they brought Mom into the argument. Definitely crossed a line. "I loved her with everything that I was. These boys…. They're the only bits of Trisha left in this world! I don't understand how you can be so cruel to them! They're your nephews, damn it! Trisha would be so disappointed if she saw how you treat them!" Al takes my hand, his whole body shaking.

"I wanna go home," he whimpers.

"Shh, it's okay, Ally," I say. "Let's go upstairs." Al nods again and I guide him upstairs. Dad's not yelling anymore and honestly I don't want to hear any more of his conversation. Both Uncle George and Aunt Karen think we're rotten. That's enough to keep me depressed for a while. Al walks alongside me for a moment before yanking his hand away. I stare as he runs off and goes into the bathroom. Maybe he's throwing up. I hurry after him and try to open the door but it's locked. I press my ear against the door and I can hear him. My heart slows down, my stomach dropping as I hear Al say those four words I hate more than anything.

"I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy." Over and over and over again. My face burns in anger and I want nothing more than to stomp downstairs and tell them off. But honestly, I'm scared that Al's gonna hurt himself if I leave. I know I hurt myself when I told myself I was bad over and over like that.

"Ally, c'mon," I say gently. "Come out. It's okay."

"I'm a bad boy!" He wails. "Everyone thinks so! She was right about me!"

"Al…. Uncle George and Aunt Karen are assholes," I tell him. "What they think of us doesn't matter." I'm kind of lying to him. As much as I wish what he said didn't hurt me, it did. And here I am, telling Al it doesn't matter when it hurt my feelings too. I'm just trying to be brave; to be brave for my little brother who needs me. "Dada doesn't think you're bad, Al. Neither does Nana or Winry, or Picard or Granny. Nobody who matters thinks you're a bad boy."

"I wanna hurt myself," Al tells me softly.

"I know," I reply. "And you're brave for telling me. I was always too scared to tell somebody." I stop talking, my tongue sliding nervously across my lips. I really don't want to have to ask this, but since Al's in the low place and admitted to feeling like he wants to hurt himself, I kinda have to; "Are you hurting yourself right now?" A pause. My heart thumps wildly as I wait for Al to answer.

"Yeah," he admits with shame in his voice. "I scratched my arm with my nails. I didn't stop like usual. I'm sorry, Brother!"

"Is it bleeding?" I ask gently.

"Yeah," Al answers.

"Let me in," I say. "Let me help you." I wait and the door opens. Al stares at me, bags under his eyes and tears and snot running down his face. His nose his red and his eyes are puffy from all the crying. I go inside the bathroom and shut the door. I point to the toilet and say, "Sit down." Al nods miserably and I rummage through the medicine cabinet. There's some peroxide in there as well as some Band-Aids. I grab them and some cotton balls. I walk over to Al and squat down.

"Show me your arm, Al," I instruct gently. I'm trying to stay calm. Freaking out and yelling at him won't help. It won't solve the problem and it won't fix how he feels. I need to be nice. I need to be calm. Al nods and extends his arm toward me. There's a few little bleeding nail marks littering his skin. I wet a cotton ball and start cleaning one of them.

"Brother?" Al asks.

"What?"

"I'm so sorry," Al cries. I sense a meltdown as Al says, "I'm so sorry!" I drop the cotton ball and pull him into a hug. He starts sobbing and I pet his hair.

"It's okay," I whisper. "I've been here, remember? I understand what you're going through. It'll be okay, Ally. I've got you. Brother's got you." Al keeps sobbing loudly and someone knocks on the door.

"Ed?"

"Dada," I say. "Come in." Dad comes in and sighs. He shuts the door and sits on the bathtub. I stare expectantly at him and Dad takes his glasses off and cleans them.

"You need to apologize to your uncle," Dada tells me. I open my mouth to protest but Dad holds his hand up. "Sometimes, Ed, we need to be the bigger person even if we were the ones who were wronged," Dad tells me. "You might be right about them but they're still family. If they won't treat us like family, we're going to treat them like family anyway."

"Dada," Al wails, "Dada, I'm sorry!"

"Hey, baby, it's okay," Dad coos. "It's not your fault, honey. It's okay." Dada looks Al over and his eyes widen when he sees the little bleeding marks littering Al's arm. He opens his mouth to say something but this time I silence him. I pick the cotton ball up and keep cleaning Al's arm. He winces a little 'cause it stings and soon they are Band-Aids all over his arm.

"There," I say like he's a little kid, "All better, see?" Al nods, wiping his face.

"Boys I put fresh sheets on," Dad tells us both, his eyes worriedly staring at Al. "If you want to go back to bed for a while you can. You have a long day ahead." We both nod.

"C'mon, Al," I say. "Let's sleep some more." Al nods and stands up. Before we move, Dada pulls Al into a bear hug. Al whimpers and clings to Dad, Dad rubbing his back.

"It's okay," Dad whispers. "It's okay." Al lets go and I take his hand. We walk back to the room we're sharing and get changed.

"You okay?" I ask. Al shrugs.

"I guess," he answers softly. "It's just…now that Uncle George and Aunt Karen know, everyone else will, too. They'll tell everyone we're rotten kids who…." I sigh.

"Yeah, probably," I agree, sitting down on the bed. "But maybe this will be our reason to never go to one of these things again."

"Maybe," Al says slowly. "But…. What about Nana?"

"I don't know," I say. "All I know is Dada's had enough. I've never heard him yell like that ever."

"He was real mad, huh?" Al asks. I smirk and nod.

"Oh, yeah," I say. Al lays down and I say, "The maddest ever." Al giggles and I throw the blanket on him.

"Madder than a southern high school football coach when his team loses a game?" Al asks.

"Yup," I say, tucking him in.

"Madder than a bear who sees people messing with her cubs?" Al asks.

"Times ten, for sure," I say, taking my leg off.

"Madder than a robot bent on destroying all humanity because we enslave its kind?" Al asks and I laugh.

"You know it," I chuckle. I lay down next to him and Al rolls over to look to me.

"I am sorry I hurt myself," Al says softly. "I won't do it again. I know what it puts Dada through." I look away guiltily. It puts Dad through Hell. I would know. Last year, I was the son hurting himself on purpose.

"I know you're sorry," I tell him, "But take it from someone who's been there – don't say that you won't do it again. All that does is make you feel guilty when you do it again."

"Oh," Al sighs. "Okay."

"Just say, 'I'll try not to hurt myself again'," I go on. "That makes it easier on everyone, kiddo." Al smiles; that smile he always smiles when I use a pet name. Pet names make him feel loved and special, I think.

"Okay," Al says, "I'll try not to hurt myself again." I ruffle his hair.

"Good boy," I praise. Al closes his eyes, soaking up the praise. "Get some sleep, Al." Al nods and rolls over.

"Sweet dreams, Brother," he tells me sleepily.

"You too, Ally."

Al and I slept until lunch. We got up, got dressed, and went downstairs. As soon as we got downstairs, Dada made me apologize to Uncle George. I did, but I made sure everyone knew I wasn't happy about it. I asked Nana over lunch why they were here so early to begin with and it turns out they're here to help with Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently Nana can't do it all herself anymore. Al's face fell and he said that he wanted to help with dinner. Aunt Karen gave him a dirty look and her kids snickered at him. I knew then we wouldn't be allowed to help. I shivered in my seat, remembering how she would tell us we weren't allowed to do various things. Help in the kitchen, speak, eat…. I shuddered and got up from the table. I went to hide in my room and I've been hiding here ever since. I have my DS out, but I haven't even turned it on. Al's still eating but he'll probably come up here soon. He and I like to be together. That's our safest place. Dr. Hughes says it's not healthy but neither of us care. It's safest when Al's with me. When he's beside me, I'm safe. Nothing can hurt me. Nothing can yell at me. Nothing can tell me how I'm a waste of space or anything like that. I'm safe. The door opens and I look up. Al slips inside and walks over. He sits down, a sigh escaping his lips.

"What's the matter?" I ask, closing my DS. It's not like I was playing anyway.

"More people are starting to show up," Al tells me. "It's making me anxious." He groans and tucks his head between his knees and says, "I'm gonna throw up."

"Nah," I say, "You won't. We can just stay up here until dinner then stay here until everyone leaves."

"The kids are thinking of having a football game outside," Al says, lifting his head. He turns to me and asks, "Think we'll get invited to play?"

"No," I reply. "And that's a damn shame 'cause I'd love to turn 'em down."

"I don't want an invite," Al tells me. "It'd be a pity invite or someone forced them to and I don't want that. If I'm gonna get invited to do something, I want it to come from somebody who actually wants me around."

"Nobody here but Nana and Dada wants us around," I say. I sigh then gasp, "Oh!" as I suddenly remember something I wanted to do today. Al jumps a little.

"What?" He asks anxiously.

"I was going to show you Nana's bird scrapbook!" I cry. I scratch at my hair and say, "It totally slipped my mind!"

"Bird scrapbook?" Al asks.

"Yeah," I answer. "Nana goes birdwatching and takes pictures of the birds she sees. Then she puts those pictures into a scrapbook. I thought you'd like it and I meant to show it to you but I forgot with everything that happened this morning."

"I like birds," Al says. "I think I'd like birdwatching."

"You probably would," I agree.

"I wanna see Nana's scrapbook," Al tells me. I set my DS down on the bed.

"Okay," I say, "But there's all sorts of Elrics downstairs."

"That's okay," Al tells me. "We can grab a book and sit in the front yard and watch birds." I don't think Al quite grasps birdwatching. You need binoculars and you go someplace else – like a park – to do it. But Al's excited so I don't say anything.

"If you're sure," I say. I take his hand and we go downstairs. There's Elrics everywhere but none of them are near the couch. We hurry over and grab a scrapbook before dashing to the door.

"Nana!" Uncle George's son, Camden, yells. We both cringe at the same time as he tattles on us. "Edward and Alphonse are stealing one of your scrapbooks!"

"Are not!" I argue loudly. "We just want to look at it!" Nana appears from the doorway to the kitchen and scowls at Camden.

"Cam, you snitch," she scolds. She walks over to us and kisses us both. "Your father mentioned to me that you boys were interested," she tells us.

"I wanna watch birds," Al says.

"Well, Ally," Nana begins, "If you like the book tell me and sometime in the spring we'll get you boys up here and I'll teach you how to scrapbook." Al grins ear to ear.

"Yeah!" He says eagerly. "Okay!" Nana pets his head.

"Good boy," she praises. "Go on, boys." We nod and hurry outside. We sit on a bench in her front lawn, the book resting on my lap. I open it, Al gasping when he sees the inside.

"Nana took these?" He asks.

"Yup," I say. I point to a golden finch and say, "Look, Ally. Those are hard to see." Al smiles and points to a cardinal.

"I like these," he tells me. "The red's pretty."

"Only the dudes are red," I say. "The girls are shitty brown." Al laughs.

"No, it's nice," Al argues. "It's a nice brown color. I bet it makes their babies feel safe." I nod and flip the page.

"Nana's really good at this," I comment. The pictures are nice and the scrapbook is nice too. I want her to teach me how to do it. I tilt my head back and sigh; "I wonder if Mom scrapbooked, too."

"I think she did," Al replies. "Our baby books look a lot like this."

"Baby books?" I question.

"Mmm, yeah," Al says, standing.

"You look at those?" Al nods.

"Sometimes," Al tells me. He stretches and says, "Reminds me of Mom."

"So…. Our baby books are scrapbooks?" I ask.

"Yup," Al chirps. He walks over to a tree and looks up into the branches. "Mom was a lot like Nana, I guess."

"I guess," I say, flipping through the book. My brow furrows and I ask, "What are you doing?" Al turns back to look at me and laughs.

"I'm looking for birds, silly," he tells me. He stands on his tip-toes and leans up against the tree. "I don't see any, though."

"Al," I laugh, "That's not how you birdwatch."

"Sure it is," Al argues. "You look for birds then you watch them. That's birdwatching." Well, he's not wrong, I guess.

"Well, okay," I chuckle. "Try climbing the tree, Al. You might find birds." Al nods eagerly and starts climbing. I shake my head and return my attention to the book. Maybe I should look at my baby book when I get home. I flip the page and smile. On this one is a picture of Nana and her three kids; Uncle George, Aunt Millie, and Mom. They're kids in this picture, all smiling at the camera with Grandpa. I guess they went birdwatching as a family. I stare at Mom and realize that Al looks a lot like her. He's got the same round face, same nose, and the same gentle smile. Al's eyes are even closer to Mom's than mine are. Mine are the same light brown Dada's are but Al's got this brown-green hazel thing going on. Sometimes they look brown and other times they look green but sometimes they're right in the middle – all hazel-y. I grin and decide that I want to learn how to birdwatch. I want to learn how to take pictures of birds and scrapbook. It'll bring me closer to Mom, I think, if I do.

"Brother!" Calls Al from the tree. I look up and laugh. He's hanging upside down from a branch, his face red from laughing. "Look!"

"What are you doing?" I laugh. "I thought you were looking for birds?"

"I am!" Al laughs back. I shake my head; baby brother's silly today.

"Careful," I remind him. "I don't want you to fall."

"I won't," Al says as he disappears into the tree. I turn my attention back on the book as someone walks over. I look up and see Dada standing near the bench.

"Hi," I say. Dad sits down next to me and chuckles.

"Al's silly, isn't he?" Dada asks.

"Yeah," I agree. "You've never told me that Mom did scrapbooking."

"Really?" Dad asks. I shake my head and Dad says, "Oh. Well, I'll try to talk about Mom more. You deserve to know what Mom was like."

"How's dinner coming along?" I ask. Dad chuckles.

"George and Karen won't stop arguing," Dad tells me. "And Millie isn't here yet even though she said she'd come help."

"So her kids aren't here yet?" I ask.

"Nope," Dad answers. "It's just Lauren and Camden right now."

"Camden's a brat," I comment. "Tried to get Al and me in trouble for looking at Nana's scrapbook."

"Well, he's the baby of the family," Dad tells me. My brow furrows.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, Ed, usually the youngest kid in a family gets spoiled rotten by his family," Dad explains. "That turns kids into brats."

"Al's not like that, is he?" I ask worriedly. Dada sighs.

"No," Dada tells me. Dad pauses before saying, "But he is babied a bit."

"Is not," I argue. Dad gives me a look.

"Ed, we're all guilty of it," Dad says. "We all baby Al a little. We do everything for him. Mom was guilty of it, too. I think it was because Al would be her last baby ever."

"I don't mean to baby him," I defend. "He just needs me."

"I know, hon, I know," Dada says, patting my leg. "But we have to let Al grow up a little." I nod.

"I know," I sigh. "I'm just glad he's not a brat." Dada smiles.

"Me too," Dad agrees. "I'd rather have a babied son then a spoiled son any day."

"Is that why Al's so sweet and cuddly?" I ask. Dad laughs at me.

"I don't think so," Dada chuckles. "I think Al's just like that naturally."

"Hey, Dad," I say, "Are we coming back to Urbana for Christmas?"

"No," Dada answers. "I thought we'd go visit the von Hohenheim side of the family. What do you think of that?"

"I don't know," I say nervously.

"I never get to visit my family," Dad points out. "I always feel obligated to visit Mom's family."

"Why?" I ask.

"I…." Dad sighs and licks his lips. "It's difficult to explain, Ed. Basically I felt like by going to see the Elrics I was keeping a piece of Mom alive somehow. By seeing them, I was seeing her."

"Oh," I breathe.

"But today finally opened my eyes," Dada goes on. "Only Ma is anything like Trisha was. So I thought maybe we could visit my family instead."

"Your parents are both dead, right?" I ask. To my surprise, Dada shakes his head.

"My father's in a nursing home," Dad tells me. "I sometimes take lab days off to visit him."

"You do?" I ask.

"Yeah," Dada answers. "He asks about you boys a lot. Though, he still thinks Al's in diapers."

"Why?" I laugh.

"He's got Alzheimer's," Dad tells me sadly. "The last time he saw you boys, you were three and Al wasn't quite two yet. He even thinks Trish is alive." Dada sighs and says, "That's why I've never taken you boys with me to visit him. It would make you too sad."

"But he's my grandpa!" I cry. "I wanna meet him!"

"Alright," Dad says. "I'll take you to visit him when we go to Chicago for Christmas."

"Can we visit the aquarium?" I ask. He never took us there. When he came home after she starting hitting us, he told us all about it. But we never went. We were always too bad to go. But now; now we're free from her. We could go if we wanted to.

"Sure," Dada says, standing. He looks over at the tree and calls, "Carefully, Ally! Don't hurt yourself!"

"Dada!" Al cries. He swings off a branch and jumps down. He hurries over and grabs Dad's arm. He tugs on it, bouncing up and down, and says, "Dada, I found a bird's nest!"

"You did?" Dada asks.

"Yeah!" Al says excitedly. "It's got lots of little baby birds! Can I borrow your phone and take a picture of them?"

"Sure, honey," Dada says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Al. Al takes it eagerly and kisses Dad's cheek.

"Thanks, Daddy!" Al cries running off. He climbs back into the tree and Dad shakes his head. A car pulls up and stops next to the house. I groan – Aunt Millie is here. Aunt Millie's got seven kids. They're all mean to me. They all pile out of her van as her husband, Dave, tries to corral them all inside. Aunt Millie steps on to the lawn and glares at Dada.

"Oh," she says stiffly. "You're here." Dad smiles at her.

"Well, we are family," he replies. Aunt Millie huffs and shakes her head.

"Family, huh?" She questions. Aunt Millie folds her arms and says, "Family stays close to each other, I do believe."

"Well, I suppose," Dad says, Al jumping out of the tree, "But Resembool's not that far from Urbana. The boys and I are pretty close." Aunt Millie huffs again as Al runs over. He shoves the phone in Dada's face.

"Look!" Al squeals. "They're so cute!"

"They sure are, Ally," Dada agrees. He gestures to Aunt Millie and Al turns around. He squeaks and hides behind Dada. "Say hi, Alphonse." Al peeks out from behind Dad and waves, a strange look coming over his face. I watch as he steps out from behind Dada and walks over to Aunt Millie. He stares at her belly and my heart stalls.

"Do you have a baby in your tummy?" Al asks innocently. Aunt Millie glares at him and I'm terrified that she doesn't.

"Yes," she replies stiffly. "I'm pregnant." Al grins broadly.

"Would it be alright if I felt your tummy?" Al asks. He extends his hand toward her but she swats it away.

"No," she snaps. Al recoils. I step forward to yell at her but Dad holds me back.

"Millie, come on," Dad says. "Ally just wants to feel the baby." Al's lip trembles and Aunt Millie glares at us.

"I said no, Hohenheim," Aunt Millie says. "I don't want him to touch me. Rotten little rugrat."

"Hey!" I shout. "There's no reason to call him names!"

"Be quiet, you delinquent!" Aunt Millie snaps.

"I'm not a delinquent!" I yell.

"Of course you are!" Aunt Millie argues, Al running to hide behind me. "I know you set fires!" My heart slows down.

"I…. No." I used to do that. I don't anymore. I don't.

"That's enough," Dada commands. "My son isn't a delinquent. He doesn't set fires, Millie."

"It's a shame," Aunt Millie sighs. "How did Trish's kids turn out like this?"

"Stop it!" I cry. "You don't know anything!"

"Brother," Al whimpers, clinging to my shirt.

"It's not our fault!" I yell.

"Ed, it's okay," Dada says gently. He turns to Aunt Millie and says, "I wonder how Trisha's sister turned out so cruel." Aunt Millie's eyes widen and she mumbles under her breath. Dada walks over to her and says, "If you don't want Al to touch your stomach that's fine. Just don't call him names." Aunt Millie nods and hurries inside. Dad turns to look at us and says, "Yup. Let's visit my family for Christmas."

"Sounds good to me," I grumble.

"Me too," Al pipes up. Dad can probably sense that Al's still upset so he hands Al his phone.

"Show me more pictures of those birds," Dad tells him. "You worked so hard to find them." Al grins brightly and nods.

"Okay!" He cries. He unlocks and shows Dada and me a picture of the birds. "See! They're all fluffy 'cause they're babies!"

"You didn't touch 'em, did you, Al?" I ask. Al shakes his head.

"Nope," he answers. "I read once that if you touch baby birds, their moms reject them. So I didn't touch them."

"Good boy," I praise. Al grins and swipes right.

"Look, see," Al says. "There's five of them." He swipes again and there's a picture of Al's face next to the nest. I roll my eyes and laugh. Al's a goober.

"You silly boy," Dad chuckles, shaking his head. Aunt Millie's kids come back outside with Lauren and Camden. Guess they're going to play football now. Al hands Dada his phone back and starts shaking.

"Let's go in," he says nervously.

"Sure, Al," Dad agrees. I grab Nana's scrapbook and start heading inside. The kids jeer at me and I turn around. I glare at them and one of Aunt Millie's sons (his name's Kyle) comes charging at me. I smirk and stand firmly where I am and wait. He tries to tackle me but I grab his arm and flip him over. The kids all gasp and I bush my hands off.

"Nice try, douche canoe," I say. Al's eyes are peeled open and his mouth is agape.

"Brother," he breathes. Kyle sits up, groans, and stares at me.

"You're strong for a shrimp," he comments.

"I'm not a shrimp!" I argue loudly. I don't like to be called small. I'm already super self-conscious about my size. Kyle laughs and stands up.

"Wanna play?" He asks. I blink.

"Uh, what?" The kids all groan 'cause they don't want me to play with them but Kyle seems genuine. That's why I'm confused.

"Wanna play?" Kyle asks again. "I could use good defense." I glance backward at Dada who's encouraging me to say yes.

"I, uh, well," I begin nervously. "I mean, I'll play if Al can, too." I want him to invite Al. I don't want to play without Al. To my surprise, Kyle nods.

"Sure, he can play," he says, the kids groaning again. His face turns sour and he glares at them.

"Shut up!" He yells. "I like Ed. I want him to play!" I hand Dada the scrapbook and turn to Al. I ask him with my eyes if he wants to play. He says he isn't sure, but likes that he got invited.

"Can I just watch for a while?" Al asks.

"Yup," Kyle chirps.

"I didn't think you liked me," I say.

"Oh, well, I guess I was rough on you before but you're nice," he says. "My mom's totally wrong about you. I've heard you tell jokes and you're funny. I'd like to get to know you better." I smile so big it feels like my face is gonna split open.

It turns out that hardly any of my cousins actually hate me or Al. With the exception of Camden and Lauren, they all actually think we're okay. I ask Kyle about it in between running around in the yard and he says that it's easy to act mean 'cause their parents act that way. Makes sense I guess. But the more I pry, the more I learn that Uncle Dave doesn't really hate us, either. Since Uncle George and Aunt Millie are so passionate in their hate, Uncle Dave just plays along so he's on the family's good side. Stupid, but I understand why. Uncle George and Aunt Millie are kind of like the head of the family and when you're on their bad side it stings. They're so mean to you when you're on their bad side. The kids and Uncle Dave didn't want to be treated the way Dada and me and Al have been treated since Mom died so they never admitted to liking us. That conversation ends and Al says he wants to play football with the kids, too. I guess learning that only two of our nine cousins hate us gave him enough courage to play with us.

Around four thirty Nana comes outside to announce dinner's ready. We all take turns washing hands and sit at the table. We don't have a kids' table or anything like that. Nana has a big round table in her dining room and that's what we use. It seats my aunts, my uncles, my cousins, and all the other distant Elrics (like Nana's cousins) comfortably. I sit next to Al and Dada, Uncle George, Aunt Karen, and Aunt Millie glaring at us. They didn't like it that we played with their kids, I guess. But their glares, while anxiety-inducing, do very little to spoil dinner. We talk with the kids and Nana and Uncle Dave and for the first time since before I can remember we have a good Elric Thanksgiving dinner. Nobody cried, nobody threw up, and neither of us had a panic attack. We watch football after dinner together. Uncle George pesters Al a bit but I butt in before he can make Al cry. I want Al to be happy. He deserves to be happy. Our uncle walks off all dejected and we tell Nana that we want to learn birdwatching from her. She seems thrilled and for the first time ever I wish we were coming to Elric Christmas. But we're not. We're gonna go up to Chicago and meet Dada's family. Dad tells Nana that and she seems okay with it. She says we should get to know the other side of our family. I'm glad she thinks so because I don't want to hurt her feelings or anything.

The football game winds down and people start leaving. Al yawns and I can tell he's beat. Being around people that long makes him tired. He's an introvert. That's what Dr. Hughes says. He's an introvert (an extroverted one, whatever that means) and I'm an extrovert (an introverted one). People always think that introvert means shy. While Al is shy, that's not what it means. It means Al get energized from being by himself. Being around so many people wears him out. It always has, even before the abuse started. Me, well, I get energized around people. Usually. That's where the introverted part of me comes in. Sometimes I get energized the way Al does. Being alone (or just with Al) gives me all the emotional and social energy I need sometimes. Other times, though, being alone wears me out. Dr. Hughes says I'm either and introverted-extrovert or I'm half and half. He says we can't know until I take a test for it. Al yawns as he says good-bye to Aunt Millie and Uncle Dave's kids. Aunt Millie lightened up toward us over dinner so she lets Al feel her tummy before she leaves. Al grins ear to ear and Aunt Millie actually smiles back. While Uncle George and Aunt Karen still seem to hate us, I don't really care. Everyone else likes us. They might have liked us all along.

When everyone's gone, Nana Elric goes to bed. Al and I take turns showering and we both read a bit before we decide it's time to go to bed. In the morning, Nana's taking us to a farmer's market and we're anxious about it. While hanging out with Nana has been fun, hanging out in public can be hard. It's scary, especially since we don't know the area that well. I shut the water off and sigh. I wonder if Al's asleep yet. I bet he's not since he's anxious about tomorrow. But if he's scared I'll just remind him we'll be home tomorrow. I groan, remembering that on Monday Dada leaves. That's something I'm really not ready for but don't wanna think about. I stare briefly at myself in the mirror before walking to my room. My hair really is getting long. I open the door to our room and Al's sitting cross-legged on the bed. He's got a book open and his tongue is peeking out from his mouth. I shake my head and get dressed before walking over and sitting down next to him.

"Get good?" I ask. Al jumps like he didn't know I was there and looks at me.

"You sure scared me, Brother," he informs me. He looks down at the book and nods before saying, "It got real good." I yawn and Al sets the book on the nightstand. He stands up and says, "I'll get the lights, Ed." I nod and take my leg off. Al plugs in the nightlight we brought and turns the lights off. He walks back over and crawls into bed next to me. We lay silently for a minute before Al whimpers. I look over at him and he tries to hide his face from me.

"What's the matter, Ally?" I ask worriedly.

"I'm scared," he answers miserably.

"You scared of the farmer's market?" I ask.

"Yeah and Dada leaves next week," Al replies, sniffling. The tears haven't really started and I know that he doesn't want them to fall. He's sick of crying all the time. He told me.

"It'll be okay," I tell him, though I'm not so sure about that myself. I don't know that it'll be okay. I'm scared too. But I'm gonna be brave. I'm gonna be brave 'cause Al needs me to be brave for him. Al sniffles again and I say, "Tell me about your book, Al."

"Huh?" Al sniffles.

"Tell me what happened in your book," I clarify. "Tell me a story so I can go to sleep."  
"But, Brother," Al protests. "I'm no good at telling stories. Telling stories is your thing."

"Yeah, but I'm tired," I say. "So you tell me about your book so I'll go to sleep." Al sniffles again and nods.

"Okay," he replies softly. "Bigwig – that rabbit with the funny fur on his head, remember? – and Silver find a big bird and he's hurt. They find him some food and he talks really funny. I think he's Russian or something, Brother. Anyways, Hazel comes to check him out and convince him that they want to help but the bird's scared. He doesn't want their help. So the rabbits leave him alone. But Hazel was really bothered that they couldn't help so he went back and told the bird that he could live in a hole the rabbits would dig for him. He tells the bird their way of life and the next day the bird agrees to live with them. Since he feels better, he's friendly and he and Bigwig become friends." Al keeps talking and I curl up beside him. He talks and talks about rabbits and birds and how they need does to keep their warren alive. His voice is soft and gentle and I'm imagining lots of rabbits talking to the bird from Up. Al didn't tell me what the bird (Kehaar's his name) looks like. It doesn't matter, though. The last thing I hear before I shut down for the night is how all those rabbits with silly names are going to bring does back to the warren with Kehaar's help.

Seems like a weird book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note - the book Al's reading is Watership Down by Richard Adams. It's one of my favorite novels of all time and I actually named one of my rabbits after a character in that book. I highly recommend it if you haven't read it before! Thanks for reading and I'll see you all next week! :D


	22. Farmer's Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The farmer's market's the place to be, yo.

It's early and my eyes are itching. Nana made us get up early for the farmer's market. Before bed last night, I voiced my concerns about Black Friday shopping. I told her just how nervous it made both me and Al and Nana told me she'd take care of it. She told Dada last night after Al and I went to bed that we didn't have to go Black Friday shopping with her if the farmer's market proves too stressful. I have this feeling that it will be too stressful and that we'll be on our way home in a couple hours. We eat breakfast at Nana's big round table and Nana promises the next time we come up to visit, she'll teach us how to birdwatch, take good pictures of the birds, and scrapbook. It's stupid, but I'm excited to learn. I guess it's 'cause Mom did it. I don't know. Once we're done eating we get in Dada's car and we head to the market. I've always thought farmer's markets were neat. I don't know why. I think it's 'cause they remind me of fairs. You know – there's all these open air booths and they sell all sorts of shit. Jewelry, fudge, candy, purses, fruits, vegetables… the list goes on and on. Plus, I like meeting the strange people who sell at the market. Even though one-on-one with adults like that make me anxious as hell, I like to hear their stories. I like to ask them what life's like for them and hear what they have to say. After all, I'm not the only one with stories. Everyone has them. But not everyone has the opportunity like I do to tell them.

Dada pulls up to the market and we all get out of the car. Al instantly grabs my hand and he's shaking. But Al's almost always shaking so I'm not too concerned about it. Al likes open air markets, too. He likes browsing the booths, searching for the strangest thing he can find. Once he finds it, he makes up a story about it. Maybe it was owned by a man in the woods who collected bear pelts. Or maybe it was created by a craft long forgotten by everyone else but this one family. Whatever the story is, it's out there, it's silly, and it's fun to listen to him tell it. I don't know why Al thinks he's no good at telling stories. Al gets into things he enjoys. So when he tells a story or reads out loud, he gets super into it. He's emotional, he's dramatic, and he even makes voices for all the characters. I mean, I do that too, but he says it's different somehow. I think it's 'cause he can't hear himself tell stories. I don't know for sure, though. If he could, I bet he'd feel differently.

Dada gives us both some money and says we can wander around by ourselves if we want. He says if we do that, we need to meet him and Nana by the car at 11 so we can grab lunch with Nana and head home. I glance over at Al and he tells me with his eyes he's okay with wandering around just us. So we say good-bye to Dad and Nana and walk off. There's lots of booths at the market so there's lots of rednecks trying to convince us to buy whatever it is they're selling. We walk around and see lots of handmade jewelry (it's mostly ugly), lots of hand-knitted scarves and things like that (they're mostly ugly, too), and weird lawn ornaments. Al gets a kick out of the creepy lawn gnomes and we move on. There's a person selling rock candy and without thinking I buy some. I love rock candy. When I was little, I went through a phase where all I talked about were caves. So Mom took me and a really little Al (he might have only been two) to this cave and showed me all the stalagmites and shit. Once the tour was over, she bought us both rock candy and Al got it in his hair. So rock candy reminds me of that cave. It reminds me of Mom. Since I picked the last booth to look at, Al gets to pick the next one we visit. He's holding my hand as I suck on the candy, weaving in and out of the aisle. He pauses, his eyes fixed on a booth. He starts walking again and I notice it's got a variety of things. Little dolls and other stuffed animals, socks, gloves, and hats all crocheted, and jewelry that isn't freaking ugly. There's also handmade cards and I think they catch Al's eye the most. He pauses in front of a crocheted hat and touches it. The lady running the booth smiles at us both and walks over.

"My daughter made that," she tells us. "She and I made everything in here."

"It's all beautiful," Al comments. The lady grins.

"You're sweet," she replies. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay," Al says as she walks off. He stares at the hat and says, "Do you think Mom would have liked this?"

"What?" I ask.

"This," Al says. "This booth, this market…." Al trails off, his eyes downcast.

"You miss Mom today, huh?" I say, pulling the rock candy out of my mouth. Al nods so I say, "I think she would, Al." Al grins sadly and I notice his eyes look green today. He looks a lot like Mom today.

"Think we could visit her soon?" Al asks softly.

"Sure," I say. "Dad'd be up for it." Al looks sad so I hold out some rock candy. "Want some?" I ask. Al smiles and nods.

"Thanks," he replies and takes the candy. His eyes catch on another item and he lets go of my hand. He walks over and I browse the booth aimlessly. I look at a bracelet; one I know that Mom would like. I wonder if Nana would like it. It's silver and has little blue stones inside the silver chain. I pick it up and turn toward Al.

"Hey, Al," I call. Al turns around and I hold up the bracelet; "Think Nana Elric would like this?" Al grins brightly and nods.

"Yeah!" He replies eagerly. "You should it for her as a present, Brother!" I nod.

"Yeah, okay," I say. I walk over to him and ask, "What are you looking at, Ally?"

"A blanket," Al tells me. He points to it and says, "It's crocheted and warm and soft and I love it."

"Then get it," I say.

"Yeah, but I wanna get Nana a present," Al tells me. "This blanket costs exactly how much money I have. If I buy it, I can't get Nana a present." I shake my head; typical Al.

"Then this bracelet is a present from both you and me," I suggest. "That way you get your blanket." Al nods and eagerly grabs the blanket.

"Okay!" He cries excitedly. I smile fondly at him and take his free hand.

"Let's pay the nice lady and go find Nana and Dad," I say. Al nods and we walk up to the lady.

"Find something you like?" She asks cheerfully. I show her the bracelet and she smiles. "That's a nice piece, isn't it?" I nod.

"Uh, yeah," I reply nervously. "My mom would have liked it so I'm buying it for my nana."

"You're a sweet kid," she tells me. "It's twenty dollars even." I hand her the money and she asks, "So, you're in middle school, aren't you? You look about my daughter's age." I blush. I get this a lot. Never gets less irritating.

"Actually, I'm fifteen," I tell her. "I'm a sophomore."

"Goodness, I'm sorry," she apologizes, putting the bracelet in a nice box and handing it back to me. "You probably don't like hearing that, do you?" I shake my head and chuckle as I take the box from her.

"You have no clue how annoying it is," I laugh, stepping aside so Al can pay for his blanket.

"Is this all you want, little boy?" She asks. Al nods and hands her his money. "It's a good choice, buddy. Nice and soft. It'll keep you warm this winter."

"I like the colors," Al tells her, not correcting her after she called him a little boy. Those things don't bother him like the bother me. While I like being treated like a kid, I don't like begin called small or anything like that. I've always been self-conscious about my size. Even when I was a little kid. But Al's more laid back so it doesn't bother him like it bothers me.

"They're nice, aren't they?" She agrees, folding the blanket up and putting it in a bag for him. She hands him the bag and his change and says, "My daughter and I like earthy tones like browns and forest greens."

"Mmm," Al hums, taking the bag and money from her, "Yeah. Me too."

"Have a good one, boys," she says. I take Al's hand and he pockets his change. We walk toward the actual farmers and find Nana and Dad near a booth that's selling vegetables. We hurry over and I tap Dad on the back. He turns around and smiles warmly at me.

"Hey, kiddo," he greets. He looks me over and chuckles when he sees the untouched rock candy in my pocket. "Find something you like?"

"Yeah," I say. "Al got something, too."  
"Whatcha got, Al?" Dada prompts. Al grins and lets go of my hand. He places the bag on the ground and pulls out his blanket.

"Look, Dada," Al says eagerly. He unfolds the blanket and holds it up for Dada to see. "It's so soft!" Dad reaches out and touches it.

"It is," he agrees. Al folds it up and puts it back. Nana turns around and shoves a snap pea in my face.

"Uh, Nana?" I ask. She puts the snap pea in my mouth and I instinctively bite down.

"Try that, will you?" She instructs. She gives one to Al and I finish mine.

"That's good, Nana," I tell her. She smiles at me and I say, "Oh!" Nana laughs at me.

"What is it, Ed?" She chuckles.

"Al and I got you a present," I tell her. I hold the box out to her and she takes it. She looks at the box and shakes her head.

"You boys didn't have to get me anything," she says.

"We know," I reply, "But you've been so nice to us and…." I trail off. There's so much more I want to say but I can't find the words. Words can be hard sometimes. Nana smiles at me and opens the box. Her eyes widen and she pulls the bracelet out.

"Oh, my," she breaths. The little blue stones twinkle in the sun as she examines it. "It's beautiful."

"I thought you'd like it," I tell her. "Mom would have liked it so I thought you would too." Nana walks over and pulls us both into a hug.

"You boys are so incredibly sweet," she tells us. "Trisha would be so proud of you both." Al whimpers beside me and drops his bag. He wraps his arms around Nana and I slowly return the hug. I'm hugging both Nana and Mom, I think. I imagine for a minute that Nana is Mom and I never want to let go.

"I'm proud of you," Mom would say, petting my hair like she did when I was little. "I'm so proud of you, Little Man."

Nana ends the hug and pulls me out of my thoughts. She kisses us both and puts the bracelet on. Al grabs his bag and grabs my hand with his free hand. We walk around the market together, Nana having me and Al taste the fruit and vegetables before she'll actually buy it. We walk by some strange people and like always Al makes up silly stories about them. Around eleven, we leave to go get lunch. We pick up something quick and eat at Nana's table. When we're done we finish packing and say good-bye to Nana Elric. It makes me sad that we won't be coming to Urbana for Christmas this year. Now that I know my family doesn't hate me (well, mostly) I actually wanna come back. But we promise to visit and Nana gives us all one big hug. We get in the car and I lean back against the seat. I'm tired so I shut my eyes and I drift off to sleep.

I'm standing in an open field. There's flowers swaying in a breeze I can't feel but I know is there. I pick one, the little yellow flower making think of Mom. I lift my head and I see her tombstone sitting in the middle of the field. Al's sitting in front of it and I call to him. He glances backward at me and waves sadly. I run over but he doesn't say anything. He stands up, gives me a hug, and leaves. I watch him disappear in the field of flowers before returning my attention to the tombstone. I stare at it, angry tears pricking in my eyes. Why'd she have to die? Why?

"It's not fair!" I scream at the blue sky. "It's not!" It's really not fair, you know. Mom was so nice and smart and loving. Why do people like that die? She was so young! We were so happy! It's not fair!

"Edward."

My heart stalls and I turn around. Standing just a few feet in front of me is Mom. She's in a white dress, flowers brushing up against her calf as she stands perfectly still. Without thinking about it I sprint over. She opens her arms wide and catches me. She holds me close, my head resting on her chest. Mom pets my hair and I start crying. "Mom, it's you! It's really you!"

"Of course it is, you silly boy," she says gently. "I'm right here, honey."

"But you died!" I cry. "You're not here anymore!" Mom pulls away and looks at me.

"Even if you can't see me, I'm there," she tells me. "I might have died but I'm still with you."

"But why?" I wail. "Why? It's not fair!"

"People die, Edward," she says softly. "It's the natural order of things. There's nothing we can do to change that."

"But you were so nice!" I sob. My fingers cling tightly to her clothes and I burry my face in her dress. "I love you, Mom. I love you. I love you."

"I know," she hums. "I love you, too. I wish I could have watched you grow up, but I couldn't."

"Why?"

"Everything has a season, Ed," Mom replies, her fingers tangled up in my hair. "Nothing, good or bad, can last forever. I had an end. Victor has an end. Alphonse had an end. You have an end. Everything does. It's just the way it is."

"Can't you stay?" I beg pathetically.

"I'm sorry," Mom apologizes, "But I actually have to go. I'm here to collect someone." The wind that I couldn't feel before picks up and sends a chill down my back. I look up and the sky's dark with scary looking clouds. Mom's still in white, but her eyes are sad now.

"Who?" I ask.

"Alphonse," she says. My heart stops.

"What?" I breathe.

"Your brother killed himself, don't you remember?" Mom asks. I let go of her and back up. Suddenly there are two tombstones. One has Mom's name and my eyes widen when I see the other has Al's name carved into it. I sink to my knees in disbelief.

"No," I whisper. "Al said…. Al said he didn't want to!" I hear someone approaching from behind. I turn back and see Al. He's all white except for one thing – there's a dark red line running down his face and staining his shirt collar. He shot himself. Oh, God, Al shot himself. He walks over to Mom and takes her hand.

"Sorry, Brother," Al says softly. "I just…." Al stops talking and turns away.

"Al! You can't leave me!" I plead. "Don't go!"

"Sorry," he repeats. "But I have to." I shake my head. It starts raining. Big drops smack my face and wet my skin.

"No," I beg, Al and Mom walking away. I start crawling and scream, "No! Come back! Alphonse!" But he's disappearing. The rain makes him invisible. I sit there and start screaming. "Give him back! Give Alphonse back!" Thunder claps and I flinch. Sitting in front of me is Al's mangled dead body. I scream, falling backward.

"Here he is."

I freeze. She's here. I look around and I see something shaped kinda like a person. But it's not a person. I don't know what it is. I scoot back, it's red eyes staring at me. It lunges at me and I scream.

I bolt upright, breathing heavily. I frantically look around and find I'm in my bed at home. I run a hand through my hair and whimper. That was awful. I grab Lamby and cry into him. Will I ever get to sleep without having nightmares? Even Mom gets corrupted in my dreams. It's not fair. It's not. Why can't my dreams be utter nonsense like everyone else? I lift my head and realize that not only am I alone but that I wet the bed. Fantastic. I get up and realize I'm still in the clothes I wore home. Great; jeans are so hard to walk in when they're wet. I manage to get out of my room and walk down the hall. I peek in Dada's room and I see he's not there. I check my watch and find it's only three in the afternoon. Oh. I walk downstairs and look around. I can't find Dada or Al anywhere.

"Dada?" I call. "Al?"

"Oh, Ed," Dad says from the kitchen. I walk in and see Dad's sorting mail. He smiles at me and says, "What's up, buddy?"

"Where's Al?" I ask miserably.

"Al's outside with Winry," Dad tells me.

"Winry's here?" I question.

"Yes," Dada replies, his brow furrowing. "Is something wrong?"

"I… yeah," I sigh. I walk over and Dad sighs sadly at me. Without speaking I wrap my arms around him.

"Some bad dream, huh?" Dad whispers. I nod. "C'mon, Ed. Let's get cleaned up." I nod and let go of him. Dada takes my hand in his and we walk out of the kitchen. Picard's sitting at the sliding glass door, watching as Al and Winry sprint passed.

"What are they doing?" I ask.

"Lord only knows," Dada chuckles. "Al said he wanted to jump on the trampoline but I think Winry's invented some elaborate game for them to play."

"I'll play too," I say.

"Good," Dad says. "You should."

"Did I sleep the whole way home?" I ask.

"Pretty much," Dad tells me. He walks into my room and says, "We had to take a potty break half way home 'cause Al couldn't hold it and you woke up long enough to tell me to not wake you up." Dada chuckles and shakes his head. "You get so cranky when you're tired."

"Hey, Dad?" I say.

"What is it?" Dada asks.

"I can…. I can clean this up." Dad blinks at me before smiling warmly at me.

"I know you can," Dad replies, "But I don't want you to. What I want you to do is get some clean clothes on and go outside with your brother." I nod and go to grab fresh clothes.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask out of habit.

"Of course not," Dada replies. "It was an accident. You don't wet the bed on purpose." I nod.

"Yeah," I agree. "I'll throw these in the hamper."

"Good," Dada says. "Don't forget, okay? You and Al both forget to actually put your dirty clothes in the hamper when you change in the bathroom." Dad shakes his head and says, "Silly boys." I smile at him and leave the room. I get dressed, avoiding my face in the mirror as I put clean clothes on. If I look at myself, I'll say those four words I hate most and I don't want to do that. I grab my wet clothes and throw them in the hamper. I go back to my room, grab a hoodie, kiss Dad's cheek and hurry outside. Al and Winry are on the trampoline now. They make silly faces at each other as they jump, Al a giggling mess.

"Hey," I greet, climbing on the trampoline.

"Brother!" Al calls eagerly.

"Ed!" Winry cries. She bounds over and throws herself on me. I stumble and fall, Winry landing on top of me. She laughs and says, "Welcome home!" I blush and try to squirm out from under her.

"Hi," I say stupidly. Winry rolls off me and laughs.

"How was Thanksgiving?" She asks.

"Surprisingly good," I tell her. Winry sits up and flings hair off her shoulder.

"That's what Al told me," she replies. Al runs over and flops down next to us. We both gain a little air, laughing at my brother's silliness.

"I told her all about how Nana's gonna teach us how to scrapbook!" Al says eagerly. I blush again.

"Oh, that," I mumble. "It's not a big deal, you know. Kinda dumb if you ask me." Winry pushes me.

"You dummy!" She cries. "It's okay if you like it! It's not dumb if you do!" I scowl at her.

"Well, I, uh," I struggle, trying to think of a good comeback. I don't have one so I just say, "Suck my dick," really loud and spring up. I start running around the trampoline and Winry gets up. She starts chasing me and Al laughs at us. He gets up too and starts running and soon we're all tumbling around the trampoline 'cause one of us tripped.

"Ed," Winry pants, "If you could make a scrapbook of one thing, what would you make it about?"

"Dicks," I say. Winry scowls and kicks my side.

"I'm serious!" She cries. "Answer for real this time!" I blush and turn my face away from her.

"I don't know," I grumble.

"Yes, you do," Winry pesters. She rolls over and props herself on her elbows. "C'mon, spill!"

"You and Al go first," I insist.

"Ugh," Winry groans. "Fine, you big baby. I'd make a travel scrapbook. The beginning would be places I went to when I was a kid. The middle would be all the places I want to go and I'd leave plenty of space so I can add to the list. Then the rest would be pictures from my trips."

"Nice," I say. I turn to Al and ask, "You?" Al sits up and hums in thought.

"Maybe cats," he says. "But it might also be neat to have a scrapbook of my family and friends. I could do one for high school, then college, then your wedding, Brother, then my wedding and it would have pictures of our kids, our houses, dances, vacations…. I think that would be good."

"Ed?" Winry prompts. I blush and yell loudly.

"Okay, fine!" I scream. "I'd make a scrapbook of you guys!" They both stare at me and I pull my hood over my head. "It's dumb, I know, but you guys mean a lot to me. If I could only scrapbook one thing, I'd pick the things that matter most to me and that's you guys. Go ahead and laugh."

"I think that's nice, Brother," Al says happily. "I'd like that scrapbook." I peek out from under my hood and Winry laughs at me.

"You really are a big softie," she scoffs playfully. "That's a nice idea." I take my hood off.

"You don't think it's dumb or clingy or weird?" I ask.

"Nah," Winry says, standing. "I think it's sweet." She pulls Al to his feet and says, "Wanna race some more?" I blink before a smile spreads across my face.

"Hell, yeah!" I cry. She helps me to my feet and I stand. Before she can do anything I push her and start running.

"You douche bag!" She cries. She chases after me and Al darts after both of us. We all laugh wildly, the little neighbor kids cheering us on as we run frantically around the trampoline.

Dada brings home some dinner and Winry eats with us. We talk about our Thanksgiving and we tell her for the first time ever, we're visiting the von Hohenheim's for Christmas. She tells me to get her a souvenir when I'm in Chicago and while I say I can't make promises; I know that I will. I like Winry so I definitely get her something. After dinner Winry hangs out for a while and plays video games with us. We play Smash Bros. for a while before switching to Call of Duty II: Zombies. Al doesn't like that game, so he sits on the couch next to me and reads with earphones in so he can't hear it. It gives him nightmares. I don't know why scary things give Al nightmares but not me. Whatever. Around eleven, Granny comes to get Winry. We talk with Granny for a bit and they both leave. When they're gone Dada tells us to go to bed. I'm not complaining because I'm beat. It was a long week for us. Al and I take turns in the bathroom like always and when we're done we turn off the lights. Al's in his bed and I'm in mine. I haven't taken my leg off yet 'cause I'm still deciding if I want to sleep alone. Before I can make that decision, though, Al gets out of his bed and lays down next to me.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing," Al replies. "I just don't want to sleep alone."

"Okay," I say. We're quiet for a minute. I stare at the ceiling, realizing that I never did ask Al if he thinks Winry is pretty. I guess now's a good time to ask. "Hey, Al?"

"Yeah?"

"D'you…. D'you think Winry's… you know…." I trail off and Al sits up slightly.

"Do I think Winry's what?" Al questions. I blush.

"Well, you know," I say again. I frowns at me and I feel the words rise up in me, "Do you think she's pretty?" That was loud. Al blinks before he laughs lightly.

"Mmm, yeah," he replies. He's quiet for a moment before saying, "But she's not pretty to me like she's pretty to you."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Well, I…." Al struggles, "I think I know that you like her. Like, like her like her."

"Oh," I say stupidly. I cringe and ask, "Is it obvious?"

"I dunno," Al yawns. "It's obvious you like her but I don't know about the like her like her part."

"You're helpful," I mutter.

"Well, sorry," Al snaps, lying back down. "I don't know much about this stuff."

"Me either," I admit. We're quiet for a minute. I stare at the ceiling, thoughts swirling around in my head.

"How long have you liked her?" Al asks after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"I don't know," I say. "Probably forever, really. I just didn't realize it 'til a couple weeks ago." I swallow and ask, "Think she likes me?"

"I don't know," Al replies. "Maybe. Girls are…. Well, girls are different. I can't tell when they like me like me or when they like someone else that way." I nod. Yeah. Girls are weird. And I figured Al didn't know if Winry likes me that way or not. Considering he doesn't even realize that Mei likes him that way, I thought it was a long shot that he would know if Winry likes me that way. Still, Al knows things. I can ask him about things that I can't say to anyone else. It's a brother thing.

"Can I tell you something?" I ask. I know he's tired but tomorrow's Saturday so he can sleep in. This is an important thing.

"Sure," Al says tiredly.

"My…. Well, I, uh, I want her to be…. I'm anxious about the idea that maybe she likes me back." I finally tell him.

"How come?" Al asks.

"That's the thing," I say. "I don't know why. It would be nice, I think, to be Winry's boyfriend but when I think about us doing that…. I don't know. My stomach ties itself in knots and not in a good way."

"Something about it scares you," Al comments. "I don't think it's the commitment thing girls talk about, either."

"It's not," I say. "Commitment doesn't freak me out. I know that it's a part of life. I just don't know what it is that scares me."

"Is it that if she's your girlfriend you'll…well, you'll have to tell her…." Al trails off.

"Maybe," I say slowly. "I mean; she already knows most of my secrets. She knows about my blanket, my nightmares, Lamby, and the bed wetting. But she doesn't know a lot about the…abuse. Maybe that is what scares me. I don't know." Al yawns and curls up next to me. His knees brush up against my back and I grin briefly.

"Yeah," Al agrees. "That might be it."

"Sorry to keep you up," I tell him. "You can go to sleep now."

"It's okay, Brother,' Al replies sleepily. "I like talking."

"I know," I say. "But you're tired."

"Mmm," Al hums.

"Sweet dreams, Al," I say, knowing he's gonna be asleep soon. Al hums again and I sigh. I look up at the ceiling. I wonder what I'm scared of. Honestly, I'm not sure it's the abuse thing. I mean, it could be, but I'm not convinced. There's something else – something that's clawing my belly and making me anxious. I can't tell what it is, though. I guess I could probe Dr. Hughes' brain about it Monday. I close my eyes. Yeah. I'll get an expert's opinion. I yawn. It's set, then. I'll ask Dr. Hughes on Monday. Maybe he can help me figure out what's got me so anxious about liking Winry. I hope so. I hate feeling anxious about everything.


	23. The Magic Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like Pokemon?

I'm sitting on the couch playing Pokémon with Al. We've both been up since ten and it's one in the afternoon now. Picard's sitting on Al's lap and Al leans forward, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. We're battling. I've raised a new team and I wanna see how it stands up against Al's. I bred lots of Bagons to get the Salamence I'm using. Needed to get the right nature and all that. Al's team is not quite as well bred, but they are well trained. See, our Pokémon strategies are pretty different. I choose my team based on type match-ups, IVs, and nature while Al just picks the ones he likes best. Once Al picks his team, though, he trains them hard core. I can't decide which way is more effective 'cause sometimes I win and other times he does. Picard stretches, his head turning toward the window. Dada's working nearby, getting everything ready for his conference. He leaves Monday after therapy and comes back the following Monday evening. A whole week. I sigh, Al delivering a final blow to my Salamence. I don't want Dad to leave. It's all I've been able to think about for two weeks. I'm so anxious about it that I feel like barfing all the time.

"Brother, I killed your Salamence," Al says.

"Sure did," I say, choosing my last Pokémon. It's Gengar, something I know Al's team isn't prepared for. I bring it out and Al groans.

"Aw, man," he complains. "I don't have the type advantage anymore."

"Nope," I sing. "Prepare to lose, little brother."

"Hey, I could still win," Al points out. "I have a Pokémon that has a one-hit KO move. Not that it hits all that often, but still; it could."

"Isn't your Beartic dying, though?" I ask.

"Oh…." Al breathes. "Yeah." Picard meows suddenly and runs off. Al's brow furrows and he calls, "Picard? What's the matter, bud?" Picard's hiding under the coffee table. As Al stands to go check on him, the doorbell rings. I turn to Dad.

"Uh, are we expecting company?" I ask. I'm still in my pajamas which today is just an old t-shirt and my boxers. Not really prepared for guests. To my delight Dad shakes his head.

"No," Dad answers. "Must be a package." Al and I exchange glances and Al sits down. There's only one thing Dada's ordered lately and we're mortified that it's here already. Al grabs his DS as Dad walks to the door. He opens it, makes small talk with the delivery guy, and comes back in. We ignore him as he sets the box down and goes to get his box-cutter.

"Oh, joy," I mutter under my breath.

"Could be worse, Brother," Al tells me.

"How?"

"You could be the one Dada actually bought it for," Al points out miserably. I kill his last Pokémon and sigh.

"Guess so," I agree as I shut my DS. Al walks over to the coffee table and manages to grab Picard. He sits back down, the cat staring at the box as Dad walks back in.

"I wasn't expecting this to come until Tuesday," Dada says like we care. He opens the box and we both look away.

"So do we have to use it at Granny's house next week?" I ask. Dad shrugs.

"I don't know," Dad answers. "From what I remember about these things it's a household thing."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Basically, we all have to work as a team for this to actually help Al," he explains. "If he doesn't wake up when the alarm goes off, it's up to one of us to get him to wake up. I don't know if I want to bother Pinako with it. Besides, from what I've read, these don't help keep things dry until it's been in use a few weeks."

"Oh," I breathe. I don't want to bother Granny with it, either.

"But," Dad goes on and I cringe, "If we don't start soon, the problem's only going to get worse."

"Dada," Al whines, "It's bad enough this happens to me at all. Do I have to drag Granny and Winry into it too?"

"They already know you wet the bed, sweetie," Dada points out. Al blushes and stares at Picard. "Don't you want it to get better?"  
"Of course I do!" Al says loudly. "But, it's…. Well, it's…. It's humiliating, that's what it is! You don't know what it's like, Dada! I can't do anything like a normal kid and this is just icing on the freaking cake!"

"Al, it's okay," Dad says calmly.

"No, it's not!" Al yells. "It's not okay! I just want this to end! I don't want…." Al trails off and sniffles loudly. Picard curls up like a slipper on his lap and Al starts crying.

"Oh, Al," Dad sighs. He walks over and pulls Al's head into his stomach. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay. It's not your fault." Al doesn't say anything and I sigh. Al doesn't yell very often. He's slow to anger and usually expresses his feelings in tears rather than shouting. But sometimes even the calmest people yell when they're frustrated. Al's really stressed and this whole issue hasn't made things easier for him. The stress and the bedwetting are probably compounding on one another, making Al's life a nightmare. It's really not fair.

"Sorry I yelled, Dada," Al apologizes miserably.

"It's okay," Dad tells him. "I know you're frustrated and embarrassed and upset about all this. Things haven't been easy for you recently." Al nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. "My life sucks." Dada chuckles at him.

"Come now," he says gently. "It can't be all bad, can it?" Al doesn't do anything so Dada tickles him. Al laughs and tries to get away as Dad says, "You've got Brother and Picard and lots of friends that make you happy. How much can your life suck when you have those wonderful things?" Al continues laughing and I grin. I'll give Dad this – he knows how to cheer Al up.

"I don't know," Al laughs. "It can still suck a little bit!"

"Are you sure?" Dada asks. Al giggles and shakes his head.

"No," he giggles.

"You silly boy," Dad chuckles. He kisses Al's forehead and says, "I need to get this set up for you, okay?"

"M'kay," Al replies with a grin. Dad ruffles my hair as he walks by and I watch him climb the stairs with the big box from Amazon.

"He owes us one for going along with this," I grumble, crossing my arms. Al gives me a look.

"It's supposed to help," Al tells me, sitting down next to me. "I'm embarrassed too but I'm gonna be positive."

"We've tried the alarm before," I remind him. "Didn't work." Al looks down.

"That's 'cause she didn't give it time to work," Al says. "I've looked into it a little and most doctors say it takes, like, a minimum of four weeks to actually start working."

"I know," I sigh.

"Look, Brother," Al says, "It's my fault you have one too. If I didn't sleep in your bed all the time, you wouldn't need one. I'm sorry."

"Don't go beatin' yourself up, Al," I tell him. "I'll try being positive, too, 'kay?" Al grins.

"Okay," he replies. He grabs his DS and smirks at me. "Wanna battle again?" I smile back and nod.

"Oh, you're on, baby brother," I say. We start to battle again, Picard snoozing happily beside us on the couch.

The doorbell rings again about an hour after Dad's package came. Al and I glance at each other before Dada stands from his chair and walks to the door. He told me we weren't expecting company and I know he hasn't ordered anything online other than…. Well, other than that. I'm so embarrassed about it. Like, I realize none of my friends know about it. I realize that none of them except maybe Winry will ever know about it. But still. It's humiliating. Needing it at all is enough to make me feel like I need to curl up in a hole and disappear forever. Dada opens the door and Al and I look over the edge of the couch at the same time.

"Gracia?" Dad asks in confusion. Gracia's here? Why would she be here?

"Hey, Victor," she replies breathlessly. "I know it's short notice and I should have called but I don't have your number and I need someone to watch Elicia for the afternoon."

"How could I say no to that?" Dad asks warmly. I glance over at Al and sigh.

"Guess I should get dressed," I say. Al looks me over and laughs.

"Guess so," he agrees. "I'll go with you. I should put actual clothes on, too."

"Hey, boys," Gracia calls from the doorway.

"Hi, Miss Gracia," Al calls back. He squats down and says, "Hi, Elicia." As soon as she's acknowledged, Elicia squeals and hurries inside the house. She hugs Al tight, giggling madly.

"I get to play with my brothers!" Elicia cries happily.

"Let's swap numbers," Dad says to Gracia as Al ends his embrace with Elicia. "I'll need to reach you should anything go wrong."

"Let's get dressed, Al," I say, reminding him that we're both still in our pajamas. He nods and turns to Elicia again.

"We'll be right back," he tells her. "Brother and I have to change out of our jammies."

"Silly!" Elicia laughs. "It's day time! You don' wear jammies after morning!"

"On Saturday you do," I reply lightly. Elicia giggles and shakes her head.

"You're silly, Ed! Silly, silly, silly!" Elicia insists, Dad shutting the door. He walks over to Elicia and says,

"Let's let the boys get dressed, okay? They'll be down to play soon, I promise." Elicia nods eagerly.

"Yeah!" She agrees. We smile at her and hurry up to our room. We quickly get dressed and I realize that we've never babysat before. Like, ever. All our family lives in either Urbana or Chicago so when they do have babies, we live too far away to watch them. Dada doesn't have any friends with little kids so babysitting isn't something we've ever done before.

"Al," I say, pulling my shirt over my head, "D'you know anything about babysitting?"

"Not really," Al replies. "But how hard can it be? I mean, Dada raised two kids and he'll be here the whole time. It's not like he's leaving us alone with her."

"Well yeah," I agree, "But she wants to play with us. Isn't that part of babysitting? Or something?" Al shrugs.

"Beats me," he says. "I don't mind playing with her, though. She's fun to play with."

"Did she even bring any toys?" I ask.

"I don't know," Al answers, walking to our closet, "But I wouldn't worry too much about that."

"How come?" Al turns to me and smiles at me.

"I have a magic box that might be useful," Al tells me. My brow furrows.

"What?" I ask, Al standing on his tip-toes. He pulls something off the shelf in our closet and it's a medium sized cardboard box. I walk over to it and Al pulls it closer to his body.

"You can't look in it yet," Al informs me. "It's magic and if you open it too soon, the magic will disappear."

"Okay, what the hell are you talking about?" I laugh. "You're making no sense." Al grins at me and shakes his head.

"You'll see soon," Al tells me, walking out the door. "C'mon, Brother. We can't keep Elicia waiting." I'm super confused but I follow. I have no idea what Al's talking about. Magic boxes? The fuck? But as I follow him I narrow it down to a couple things. The biggest thing I can think of is that he's hidden some toys from when we were little and is going to show them to Elicia. That or he's a wizard and never told me. Where'd he hide his Hogwarts letter if he is a wizard? That's important to me. We get back downstairs and I stifle a laugh. Dada's sitting on the couch with Elicia and it's completely silent. Well, almost. Dad will occasionally say something, but it's all adult-y and Elicia just stares at him. Dad really has no idea how to talk to kids.

"Elicia, we're back!" Al says happily. Elicia springs up and hurries over.

"Al! Al!" She cheers, pulling on his arm. "Your daddy's boring!" We both laugh.

"Nah, he's not," I say. "He just doesn't have a lot to say sometimes." Dad chuckles and stands.

"Boys," he addresses, "Gracia will be back around eight. Now, I have some work to do so I can be ready to leave Monday. Will you three be okay until dinner?"

"Yup," Al answers confidently. He glances down at the box and grins. "I have a magic box that'll keep us entertained all afternoon." Dada laughs and shakes his head.

"You silly boy," he chuckles, walking over. He kisses Al's forehead and says, "If you need anything, come get me, okay?"

"Okay," Al answers. Dada walks away and Elicia waves.

"Bye-bye!" She calls. She turns to Al, her wide eyes staring at the box. "Is there a fairy in there?" Al shakes his head.

"Nope," he replies, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Elicia sits in front of him and stares as Al sets the box on the floor. "It's not fairy magic or anything like that."

"Then what is it?" I ask, sitting too.

"A time capsule," Al whispers dramatically, Elicia's eyes widening curiously. "I borrowed some of the magic the TARDIS uses. When you reach your hand in the box, you'll pull out a relic from the past." I smirk; Al's clever, that's for sure. He's just confirmed what I thought – it's just a box of toys that we played with when we were kids. But for Elicia, it really is a time capsule infused with TARDIS magic. There's toys older than her in this box. So it really is magic.

"Wow," Elicia whispers in awe. "Can I look inside, Ally?"

"Yup," he says. He slides his finger underneath lips of the box and opens it. Elicia leans in and shuts her eyes before sticking her hand in it. She remains still for a moment before pulling something out, her eyes still closed. I smile when I see what it is. It's one of those heavy plastic farm animals that I swear just appear when a baby's born. Dada can't remember buying them so I guess they just showed up when I was born. I don't know. Elicia stares at the faded plastic cow, her face scrunched in concentration.

"He's an old cow," she comments. "Grandpa cow! Grandpa cow!"

"Yeah, he's ancient," Al laughs.

"Al, can I pull something out?" I ask. Al nods.

"Go for it," Al says. I put my hand in the box and pull something out. It's a figurine of Stitch from Lilo and Stitch and I smile sadly. This isn't just some random box full of random toys. No, Al handpicked what he put in this box. He decided which toys meant the most to us growing up and selected them because they mean something.

"This is so cool!" Elicia cries, pulling another toy out.

"I saw that you didn't bring anything to play with," Al says. "So I decided to share my magic box with you so you'd have something to play with until your mom comes back."

"Let's play, brothers!" Elicia cries, picking the box up. She dumps everything out and squeals, "Let's play!" Al laughs and picks out a toy to play with and all I can do is stare at Stitch.

I've always known that Al was sentimental. I've always known that Al likes to keep things that mean something to him. But I never knew just how much he managed to keep. When we were little (I was probably seven) she threw away what I thought was most of our toys. I always thought my favorite toy, a kick ass silver Buzz Lightyear, suffered that fate but it didn't. It's lying on our living room floor. Al saved it. He stored it away and kept it safe from her. He always thinks he never did anything for me growing up. Al thinks that he took so much away from me and that he's part of the reason that I had to grow up so early. But that's not true. Al took care of me. He comforted me, he cleaned my wounds, he kept me as fed and clean as he could, and he loved on me when we had no one else to do that. And now I know that he's worked hard since we were little kids to preserve our childhood. I set Stitch down and pick up my Buzz. I stare at it and press his arm. He talks just like he did when I was a kid and I lower him onto my lap. I wanna say thank you to Al. Not only did he do this wonderful thing without any recognition – not only did he share our childhood with Elicia who we consider our little sister – he took my mind off those stupid alarms that make me feel so dirty and pathetic and helpless. He took my mind off the humiliation I was feeling and he deserves to be thanked. But I don't have the words right now. I just have bubbles. Bubbles that prevent me from saying what I so desperately want to say.

I watch Al build a city out of mismatched LEGOs with Elicia and shake my head. We don't always need words to express ourselves. Sometimes our actions speak louder than any words that we could say. So I pick up a LEGO block and help them build the city. I play along with Elicia's story lines that constantly change and laugh as Al indulges her silliness. I destroy the LEGO city with them only to help them rebuild it later. We laugh and play and that's my thank you to Al. He probably doesn't even realize that I'm thanking him for something he didn't see as significant to begin with. He doesn't think what he did is incredible. He doesn't realize how much his magic box means to me. He doesn't realize that he did more than keep a few toys safe. He kept two little kids safe by keeping those toys safe. He preserved a piece of me that I thought died a long time ago. That tiny little action, his decision to keep these toys safe, kept a piece of me alive that I thought was long dead. And playing with him and Elicia, using those things he risked beatings for to keep safe, is my huge fat thank you to him.

We play with Elicia until dinner time. Dad comes out of his office and asks what we want to eat. Elicia says she wants chicken so Dada leaves briefly to pick up some chicken. He gets back and brings not only chicken, but mac and cheese, biscuits, and mash potatoes. We finish eating and decide to put a movie on until Gracia comes to pick Elicia up. I ask Dada why Gracia needed last minute babysitting to begin with as we clear the table and Dad smirks at me. Apparently she decided to take Dr. Hughes on an impromptu date today. But none of their normal sitters were free so she turned to us. I laugh and wonder if Dad ever did that with Mama. I'm sure he did, but I don't remember. Al and I were so little when Mom died. We can't remember a lot of things about those early days. Elicia and Al are picking out a movie to watch and I walk into the living room. I don't know what kind of movies Elicia even likes to watch. If it's Barbie movies, she's out of luck 'cause we don't have any of those. But she's thrilled to see Inside Out in our collection and we put that on. She watches until the halfway mark before curling up next to Al and falling asleep. The movie ends and Gracia comes to pick Elicia up. We talk with her for a moment, I miss Mom 'cause she reminds me of Mom so much, and they leave. Al and I decide to lounge around and play Pokémon like we were before Elicia came over and Dada brings the remainder of his work to the living room so he can be near us while he works.

It's around ten thirty now and Dad told us to meet him upstairs. We haven't talked about the alarm since it came in the mail. But now that it's close to bedtime we need to talk about it. I wonder if Dada's decided to use it next week or not. It would be pointless in my opinion to use it tonight and tomorrow night if he decided to not use it next week. It takes a full four weeks to start working minimum. Starting now and pausing for a week will probably only stress Al out more. I know Al doesn't need that stress when Dada's going away Monday so hopefully Dad's decided to either use it now and use it all next week or just not use it at all. We get up to our room and Dad's waiting for us. He smiles at us and we walk in, Picard trotting alongside Al.

"Well, let's just get this over with," Dada says. He knows we're both embarrassed and this can't be any fun for him, either. The sooner this conversation is over, the better. "So I bought the pad alarm since you both are such restless sleepers. I figured that anything you clip on your clothes would come off and that doesn't help you at all."

"So we're using it tonight, then?" I ask.

"I thought a lot about it and decided to leave it up to Al," Dad tells me. "It's set up so if you want to use it you can but if you want to put it off until I get back from my conference that's okay too. I want to help you, Al. This is your choice."

"Oh, I can't choose," Al mumbles. His cheeks turn pink and he says, "You should choose, Dada."

"Al," Dad sighs. "This is your problem. You're old enough now to tell me how it's best to help you. I'll help you in any way I can and we'll do it as a family, but you have to decide how we start." It's just like when Dada suggested we start therapy. He told us he wanted to put our recovery in our own hands. That way we'd actually get better 'cause we decided we were ready. I think that's been pretty effective. So Dada telling Al that it's his choice will probably work, too. I do know one thing, though. Al's sick of wetting the bed. He wants to make it stop. I just don't know what he'll choose.

"Dada," Al begins. "I, uh…. Well, I, um…. I wanna stop, but I don't want to bother Granny with it." Dad smiles gently at him.

"Well, Al, Granny sleeps on the ground floor while the guest room is upstairs. The only people you risk waking up are Brother and Winry." Dad tells him.

"And Winry sleeps like the dead," I point out. "I'll wake up when you do, but I do that anyways. If you want to do this, let's go for it." Al stares at his feet, obviously thinking it over.

"I…. Let's do it." I smile proudly at him. He's been so brave lately. Al's really starting to get better. I know he can't see it, but he is.

"I'm so proud of you," Dad tells him, Al smiling so big I bet his cheeks hurt. "Let's walk through how this works. It's been a while since we've used one of these."

"Okay," I say, walking over.

"So the pad is under your sheets," Dad explains. "The idea is as soon as it gets wet, an alarm will sound. If you're not laying directly on it, it'll take a little longer to go off. Brother's alarm sounds different than yours, Al. That way I'll know who needs help when I hear it. It should be loud enough that I'll hear it so I can come help you."

"Okay," Al says nervously.

"Don't worry if you don't wake up," Dad says gently. "This takes time. I promise you'll get the hang of it eventually but it'll take some time. I won't be angry with you, Al." Al nods.

"Okay," he says again.

"The alarm supposedly gets you to stop peeing when it goes off, but that's all in theory, I think," Dad goes on. "When you wake up, Brother or I will walk you to the bathroom so you're not scared. Then you'll get cleaned up and go back to sleep. Make sense?"

"Yeah," Al says.

"Dada," I begin, "What if I can't get my leg on in time to wake Al or something?"

"Don't worry about it, Ed," Dad tells me. "I'm not going to get angry at either of you. We're all learning how to fight this problem together." I nod.

"So I won't get in trouble?" Al asks anxiously.

"Of course not," Dada assures him.

"What if the alarm scares me?" Al asks. "What if I have a panic attack when it goes off?"  
"We'll get there when we get there," Dada tells him. "There's some that work with vibration instead of sound so if it scares you we'll try that instead." Al looks nervous and I bite my lip.

"Al," I say, "If you aren't ready we don't have to do this." Al turns to me and smiles anxiously.

"I'm ready," he replies. "Nothing ever gets better if we don't work at it. I'm not gonna push this off. I'm ready to get to work." I blink; Al's really brave tonight. I mean, I know that's how he always feels about recovery. It's how I feel about it, too. Sure, there are things you can't control (like the chemicals in your brain that make you anxious or depressed and the muscles that are weak because your stepmom fed you chemicals for seven years) but you don't try to control those things. What you do is you decide you want to get better and you work for it. You find ways to deal with those chemicals in your brain that make you miserable and you take control of your life. It's scary and it's hard but you do it. If you don't, it means you're not ready to recover and that's okay. But Al's ready. He's ready to recover and he's willing to take steps to get better. It's not just the bedwetting; it goes much deeper than that. Al and me have been taking baby steps to get better for two years and we have no intention of stopping. Al's brave. He's brave because he's doing what he can to get better. And if that makes him brave, well, I guess I am too. Dada smiles brightly at him – that smile he always gets when he's proud of us and I can tell Al's soaking it up.

"You make me so proud, boys," Dad tells us. He looks at Al and says, "Are you sure you're ready? If you are, you have to use the alarm at Granny's. Are you okay with that?" Al nods.

"Yup," he replies. "I'm ready." Dada walks over and kisses Al's forehead.

"Good boy," he praises. "I'm so, so proud of you." He walks over to me and kisses my cheek before saying, "Get ready for bed, boys. Don't stay up too late."

"We won't," we both say. Dad smiles.

"Good boys," he praises. "Come get me if you need me." We nod and Dad leaves. Al exhales loudly and flops down on his bed.

"Oh, wow," he sighs. He sits up and says, "Being brave makes me tired." I chuckle at him and sit down next to him.

"Me too," I say. I glance over at him and smile. "I'm really proud of you."

"Don't be," Al replies. "I'm not doing this 'cause I'm brave or anything. I'm doing it 'cause I'm sick of wetting the bed. There's a difference."

"Well, maybe," I say, "But you gotta admit you've been brave lately."

"I guess," Al says softly. "I don't know."

"Ally, seriously," I press. "You've done so well lately." He stares up at me in disbelief and I sigh. "Okay, so you wish you were dead and wanna cut. I get it. I really do. But despite those feelings you're still getting better 'cause you refuse to quit. You're brave, Al. And when you're brave, I am too." Al blinks at me before a smile spreads across his face.

"You're so nice, Brother," he says, "I don't think I deserve your praise, but I'll take it."

"Good," I say, ruffling his hair. "Now," I say, standing, "I'm gonna pee and go to bed 'cause I'm still beat from Elric Thanksgiving."

"Same," Al says. He stands up too and pulls me into a hug. I shake my head and hug him back. He's so cuddly. But it's nice 'cause it's nice to get hugs. We stop hugging and Al turns to change. I walk to the bathroom, pee, and brush my teeth. I avoid the mirror like usual and leave. Al takes my place in the bathroom and I lay down in my bed. I wonder whose alarm will go off tonight. I don't always wet the bed, but Al sleeps with me way more than we sleep alone. Then by default it'll be mine I guess. Which is fine. I'll wake up anyway. Al comes back and sits down on his bed. He stares at me for a moment and I sit up.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"You probably don't want me to sleep with you, huh?" Al asks miserably.

"What?" I question. Al stares at his feet and shrugs.

"I'll keep you up," he mumbles.

"Ally," I sigh, standing. I walk over to his bed and sit down. "Al, I like taking care of you. It's my job. I don't care if you keep me up or wake up crying or even if you pee in my bed. Hell, I pee in my own bed more often than I'd like and sometimes I pee in yours or wake up screaming in your bed so we're even, 'kay? I like taking care of you so if you want to sleep with me it's fine." Al glances over at me.

"Really?" He presses.

"Yup," I say. "So, my bed or your bed?" Al chuckles weakly.

"Mine so we don't have to get up again," Al laughs.

"Fair," I say. I take my leg off as Al gets up to turn the lights off. I lay down and I shuts them off before hurrying over to the bed and crawling into it next to me.

"G'night, Brother," he says softly. "Love you."

"Love you, too, Ally," I reply. "Sweet dreams." Al rolls over and I shut my eyes. Al's breathing deepens beside me and soon, I'm out too.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. I sit up groggily, an annoying alarm blaring in my ears. For a minute, I think it's Monday morning and my alarm for school's going off. That's when I remember it's Saturday night. I shake my head and I suddenly remember the bedwetting alarm. I turn to Al and see he's still sleeping, all curled up like a worm as the alarm sounds. I put my leg on and lean over the bed so I can wake him up.

"Al," I say tiredly. I shake him a little and he moans at me. "Alphonse, get up." Al sits up quickly and rubs his eyes.

"Mmm, what?" He asks sleepily. "Is the fire alarm going off?" I laugh at him.

"No, Ally," I reply. "C'mon, get out of bed." Al groans and lies back down.

"Turn it off," he complains. "I wanna sleep, Brother."

"No, you have to get up and go pee," I tell him.

"I don't have to pee," Al grumbles. I wait for it to dawn on him. Soon Al's upright in bed and he's staring at his lap. "Oh."

"Yeah," I say. "Sure you don't have to pee?" Al's lip trembles and he shakes his head.

"No," he whimpers. I sense a meltdown so I hurry over to him.

"Hey, don't cry," I say. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," he cries softly. "I woke you up for no reason."

"That's not true," I insist. "C'mon. I'll walk you to the bathroom. You should try at least." Al nods miserably and takes my hand. I pull him to his feet and hold his hand all the way to the bathroom. He walks inside the bathroom just as Dada appears from his room. He walks over to me and waves tiredly.

"Success?" He yawns. I shake my head.

"Don't think so," I reply in a whisper so Al won't hear. "I got him up but not in time. He's trying to go pee, though."

"I'll get the bed ready," Dada says tiredly.

"Don't put sheets on it," I tell him. "We'll just sleep in my bed." Dad nods and walks off.

"Alright," he replies. Al peeks out from the bathroom, his face pale.

"Is Dada mad?" Al asks anxiously. I smile at him and shake my head.

"Nope," I say. "Let's trade spots. I'm gonna try peeing too." Al nods and we switch. I can hear Al hum from outside the bathroom and I laugh lightly. I don't know what it is about him but Al's just silly. He always has been. And it's like the better he gets, the sillier he gets. I'm glad 'cause if he's silly he's happy and I want Al to be happy more than anything. I finish in the bathroom and take Al's hand. We get in our room and Dada's gone. He didn't put sheets on Al's bed and just left it bare. Al changes and we get back in bed.

"Ed?" Al whispers.

"What?"

"I really am sorry," Al tells me guiltily.

"Al, it's fine, really," I assure him. "This is gonna take time, Brother. Give yourself some slack." Al nods.

"Yeah…" he says softly. "Still, I woke you and Dada up for no reason."

"Well," I say, "Not really. Did you go pee?"

"Yeah," Al replies.

"See? It wasn't for no reason. It just feels that way 'cause it isn't working yet. I promise that you're gonna get better."

"You're not just talking about…. Well, about this, are you?" Al asks with a sniffle.

"Nope," I say. "You're gonna get better Al. You're gonna get passed all your crappy feelings and one day you won't have bad dreams every time you sleep. Someday you'll be able to eat in a restaurant and do all the things your anxiety won't let you do right now. Someday you won't wish you were dead. I know 'cause I was there. You're gonna get better, Ally. We're gonna do it together." Al sniffles again and wraps his arms around me.

"Thank you, Brother," he cries, "Thank you."

"Hey, c'mon," I say, petting his hair. "Don't cry. It's okay."

"You're gonna get better, too, Brother," Al says with a strained voice. "You and me are gonna do it together."

"Yup," I chirp, petting his hair still. "You and me are a team, Al. We're in this together, for better or for worse."

"I'm gonna get worse before I get better," Al tells me sadly.

"I know," I reply. "That's part of it. We're gonna go backward. It happens. What matters is what we do after." I feel Al nod on my chest.

"Keep moving forward," Al says sleepily. I kiss the top of his head and nod.

"That's right," I confirm. "We keep moving. No matter how hard it is or how much we slip up, we have to keep moving. That's the only way we'll get better."

"Thanks for taking care of me," Al yawns. "You're the best big brother ever."

"Don't get mushy on me," I laugh.

"Sorry," Al apologizes softly. "I won't."

"Good boy," I praise. "Okay, Ally. Go back to sleep now. I've got you. You're safe." Al nods and nuzzles in closer to me.

"Love you," he whispers tiredly. I smile warmly at him and lie down.

"Love you, too, Al," I reply. We lie next to each other like most nights, me rubbing his back until we both finally fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who all's playing Pokemon Go? Have you caught your favorite Pokemon yet? I have! Can you guess who my favorite Pokemon is? Any guesses as to what the boys' favorite Pokemon are? Let me know in the comments! If you aren't playing Pokemon Go, you should! It's a ton of fun! :D


	24. Dada Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conferences suck.

Why did Sunday go by so fast? That's all I can think about as I sit in my regular IHOP in my regular booth eating my regular pancakes. Today is the day I've been dreading for weeks. Today is the day Dada leaves. Al's not eating I notice as I stare at my pancakes. I didn't think that he would. He can't eat when he's anxious. Usually I can't, either, but I guess that I'm too hungry this morning to not eat. I don't know. Dad's trying desperately to make small talk with us but there isn't much to say. I mean, what is there besides, "Hey, kids, sorry I'm deserting you for a week! Have fun chilling out at Granny's while your anxiety eats you alive and you forget basic human things like bathing and eating! See you Monday!" Barf. I'm glad he's not trying too hard to keep a conversation alive. If he did I might actually barf and that just doesn't sound like my idea of fun right now.

Like most days recently, I can't remember a single thing about school as I get in Dad's car. Winry said that Dad came by earlier to her place to get everything ready for us so we can just meet Granny at the airport after therapy. I can't help but think about when we were little and Dada would go away. Al would cling to him and cry so hard that Dad almost missed his plan. I wonder if he'll do that now. Al's been really quite all day so if he is going to do something, it's gonna be an explosion later. He's gonna cry and scream and probably puke then cry himself to sleep. Happens a lot. Dad parks the car and we get out. I have this nasty feeling that Dr. Hughes will want to talk about Dada leaving. I'd much rather do art therapy but I doubt that'll happen today. Dad checks in and we play with the little kids until Dr. Hughes comes to get us. He smiles at us and Dada pulls his phone out. We walk back to Dr. Hughes' and sit down, Dr. Hughes sitting in front of us.

"How was your Thanksgiving?" Dr. Hughes asks. For once I'm glad he opened with that.

"Surprisingly good," I tell him. "Nana Elric had us stay at her place 'til Friday and we learned that most of our family's actually pretty chill with us."  
"Nana took us to a farmer's market in Urbana," Al continues eagerly. "I bought a really nice blanket there. It's brown and green and so soft! I can't wait 'til it's cold enough to really use!"

"And our cousins played football with us," I go on, trying to avoid what I'm sure is Dr. Hughes' main talking point. "Like they invited us to play and everything."

"Sounds like you boys enjoyed yourselves," Dr. Hughes chuckles. "That's good. I'm glad."  
"How was your Thanksgiving, Dr. Hughes?" Al asks.

"Oh, it was fine," Dr. Hughes replies. "Gracia and I hosted for the first time since we've been married. I was worried that many people in the house Elicia doesn't know well would freak her out but she was fine. Little social butterfly, that girl." We both chuckle and Dr. Hughes pulls out his clipboard. "Anything on your minds today that you want to talk about?" He asks and I sigh in relief.

"No," I answer instantly. "Let's do art therapy."

"What about you, Al?" Dr. Hughes asks. "Anything you want to talk about?" Al squeaks and shakes his head. I thought that maybe he would want to talk about Dada leaving or something but he doesn't. Fine by me. "Alright," Dr. Hughes says, standing, "Art therapy it is. What medium do you want?"

"I just wanna color," I tell him.

"I wanna paint," Al says.

"Sounds good, boys," Dr. Hughes says. He gets what we need and we start coloring. Al's tongue peeks out from behind his lips like always while I just scribble furiously. Dr. Hughes walks over and watches me for a minute before asking, "You okay?"  
"Yeah," I grumble. "Fine."

"You're using a lot of red," Dr. Hughes comments. "Something bothering you?" Even though I don't really want to talk about anything today, the words flow out of me as I continue scribbling.

"Well, Dad's fucking leaving and I like Winry," I tell him.

"Why is liking Winry bothering you?" Dr. Hughes questions, sitting down.

"Hell if I know," I snap. "Believe me; it's just one more fucking thing to be anxious about and God knows I can't handle that right now!" I press down harder on the crayon until it snaps. I stop coloring, Al staring at me as I blink. "Oh," I breathe. "Sorry."

"It's alright," Dr. Hughes assures me. "Why is having feelings for Winry so difficult for you?"

"I…." I stare at my drawing and a lump forms in my throat. "What if…. What if I hurt her?"

"Brother," Al breathes.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"You know exactly what I mean!" I cry, tears falling down my face. "Children who come from an abusive home are so much more likely to abuse their spouse and children! What if that's me? What if I abuse Winry or our kids the way she abused us? I can't like Winry! Not when I could be an abuser!" I pant heavily and everyone stares at me.

"Edward, can I ask you something?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Sure," I sniffle, "Whatever."  
"You take care of Al, right?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Yeah," I answer instantly.

"You took care of him growing up, right?"  
"Yeah," I repeat, not sure where he's going with this.

"Would you say that on some level you take care of him the way a parent cares for their child?"

"I guess," I say. "That was 'specially true growing up."

"Have you ever hit your brother out of anger?" Dr. Hughes asks. I rack my brain and shrug.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "If I ever have, I can't remember doing it. Probably 'cause I did it when we were super little."

"Do you constantly yell at him, call him names, or otherwise degrade him?" Dr. Hughes asks.  
"Of course not!" I answer loudly. "I'd never do that to Al!" Dr. Hughes smiles at me.

"So if you don't abuse Alphonse, your closest family member, I have this feeling that you won't abuse your wife, either," Dr. Hughes tells me with a smile.

"Oh," I breathe. "I…. I guess that's true."

"Dr. Hughes," Al says miserably. "Will I abuse my wife?"

"No, Al, you won't," Dr. Hughes says confidently. "You know that yelling and hitting aren't healthy ways of expressing anger."

"But I yell sometimes!" Al cries.

"Yes, but everyone does," Dr. Hughes assures him. "It's when yelling happens all the time that we should worry about it. Al, you and your brother both are very good about talking through your feelings. You don't hit people and while you do yell sometimes, it's not always how you solve problems. I guarantee that neither of you will grow up to abuse your families." I pick up a not broken crayon and wipe my face.

"Okay," I croak.

"Do you want to talk about your father?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Not really," I reply.

"I do," Al pipes up.

"Go head, then," Dr. Hughes encourages. "I'll listen.

"It just brings up a lot of bad memories," Al begins with a wavering voice. "For so long, Dada going away meant we'd get hurt. Him going away puts me right back in that place, you know? If he leaves, I'm not safe anymore. Even though Brother's here to protect me I'm scared." Al's lip quivers and he starts crying, "I'm so scared, Dr. Hughes! I don't want Daddy to leave!"

"I know it's hard, buddy," Dr. Hughes says gently. "For seven years your dad going away meant you and your brother were going to get hurt. It's hard for that sort of thing to go away."

"It's all his fault," I cut in. "If he never would have met and married her it wouldn't have happened."

"That is true," Dr. Hughes begins, "But the real person to blame is her. No one could have known that she was abusive."

"It's all that bastard's fault," I say bitterly.

"No, it's not," Al argues.

"Yes, it is!" I yell. "Why do you always defend him?"  
"'Cause Dada keeps us safe!" Al yells back.

"Then explain the abuse, Al!" I scream. "If Dad keeps us safe why'd we get abused?! No one kept us safe 'cause no one gave a damn about us!"

"That's not true!" Al argues loudly.

"Yes, it is!" I yell. Al's face quivers and he shakes his head.

"What about Granny? She cared. An' Winry. An' Teacher. An' Sig. They all cared, didn't they?" Al asks miserably. My chest is heaving but I'm starting to calm down. Al shakes his head and says, "Or maybe they didn't. I don't know." He buries his face in his hands and starts crying.

"Ed," Dr. Hughes addresses gently, "Do you blame your father?" I shake my head.

"I…. I don't know," I admit. "A little, I guess. But I don't think it's all his fault."

"Do you know why you said what you said?" Dr. Hughes asks. I shake my head pathetically and he says, "It's because it's easier to understand how we feel when we can put blame on someone. It's easier for our feelings to take root when we can say, 'Yeah. That's their fault. That's why I feel that way.' You haven't once said the abuse was her fault. You boys always blame yourselves or blame one of the adults in your lives who was supposed to protect you and failed. It's easier to understand your feelings that way." I nod.

"I don't wan' Dada to leave," I say pitifully. Dr. Hughes stands and walks over to me. He rests his head on my hand and I start crying.

"Shh…. It's okay, buddy. I know you don't want him to leave but nothing bad is going to happen to you." I cry harder and Dr. Hughes pulls me into a hug. I cry into his chest for a minute before someone else joins the embrace. It's Al and he's clinging desperately on to both me and Dr. Hughes. This is my apology for yelling. This is my way of telling Al without actually saying it that I know people care about us; that I know Dad isn't solely to blame for what happened. And the awesome thing about Al is that he knows. He knows I'm saying sorry. He knows that I rarely mean what I say when I'm angry or upset or frustrated. He knows I know people care about us. And as I cry like a baby into Dr. Hughes, Al knows that I really, truly am sorry.

We spend the rest of therapy doing artsy stuff. Al paints some more while I color. I don't really have things to color, so like usual it's just blobs of color. When the hour's up Dr. Hughes walks out to the waiting room and says he'll see us Wednesday. Wednesday. Right. Group. I get to tell more of my story on Wednesday. I decided I'm gonna skip around a bit. I've laid the ground work for them so they have a general idea of what a day was like for us. We did chores. We got screamed at. She'd lock us in closets. The mirror. The beatings. They have an idea of what our lives were like on a day to day basis. Now I can talk about the games. The wedding. The chain. The basement. Oh, man. I don't know if I can do that. But I'm gonna. I'm gonna tell my story. I decided weeks ago that the only way I'll ever stop running from it is if I tell it. So nothing, not even my crippling anxiety will change that.

We hit a drive through before going to the airport. Since it's an international flight, Dada can't just go to one of the little airports nearby. He has to go to Chicago. Granny and Winry are meeting us there. Al and I packed on Sunday and this morning Dada dropped off all our stuff and got our room ready for us since we have the alarms now. I bet he walked Granny through how it worked. I hope no one tells Winry. I mean, I know she knows about all our issues but still. I'd rather keep that between as few people as possible. Al's not very talkative. I don't know if he's still upset or not. Actually, that's not true. He is upset; upset with me. I really freaked him out when I went off the deep end today. Even though I apologized, he's still upset. That and he's upset that Dada's leaving. I want to try to cheer him up but I don't have any words for him. I wish I did, but I don't. I turn in my seat and Al's leaned up against the window. His eyes are looking straight ahead and I sigh. Dad looks over at me and smiles sadly.

"Someday," Dad says suddenly, "I'll take you boys to London." We both look at him and Dad goes on, "You'd love it over there. The weather's nice and cool and it rains a lot. I know how much you like the rain, Ed. And you'd love all the sites and history that city has to offer. I'll get you over there someday."  
"Maybe over the summer?" I suggest halfheartedly.

"Oh, I don't know, Ed," Dad begins. I glance downward and Dad says, "What would you think about going to Disney World?" Al perks up immediately.

"Are you serious?" Al questions.

"I am," Dada says with a nod. "I wasn't going to bring it up until it was more set in stone, but Pinako and I have decided to take you kids to Disney World this summer." Al cheers happily, laughing wildly.

"Oh, my God," I chuckle. "Are you for real?"

"Yes, Ed," Dad laughs. "You boys are going to Disney World."

"I've always wanted to go to Disney!" Al cries happily.

"I know, Ally," Dada says. "I knew you'd be excited."

"I can't wait!" Al cheers. "I wanna see that golf ball and the castle and all the characters!"

"You mean Epcot?" I ask with a laugh.

"Yeah, that!" Al says.

"Now, don't tell Winry," Dada instructs. Al giggles and Dad says, "I'm serious. Pinako wants it to be a surprise."

"'Kay," Al giggles. "I'll keep a secret, promise."

"Good boy," Dada praises.

"I'll make a list of everything I wanna see," Al says eagerly.

"Can we go to Universal too while we're down there?" I ask. "I wanna go to Harry Potter world or whatever."

"Sure, Ed," Dad replies. "I know you've been itching to go there since it opened."  
"Me too!" Al chirps eagerly. "And Sea World! I wanna see the whales and pet the sting rays!" I smile at him and look out my window. The Chicago skyline is visible as we get closer to the airport. I swallow nervously.

"Dad," I say anxiously, "Do you have to go?"

"Ed, honey, you know I do," Dad says gently. "But you'll be okay. Granny will make sure you take care of yourself."

"Daddy," Al whines, "You can stay. The conference is probably dumb and boring anyway."

"Al, baby," Dada begins, "Grown-ups have to do things even when they're dumb or boring. I have to go. That's the end of it." Al whimpers and I turn around in my seat. I undo my seatbelt and crawl into the back seat. "Edward!"

"Sorry," I say. "But I decided to sit with Ally."

"It's dangerous to do that," Dad grumbles and I ignore him. I take Al's hand and he looks gratefully at me.

"Thanks," Al says softly.

"Don't mention it," I tell him. God knows I need to hold his hand just as much as he needs to hold mine.

The airport is just as big and loud as I remember it being. There are people crawling all over the place, rushing to get to their gate so they can catch their plane. We meet with Granny and Winry in the main foyer and we walk toward Dada's flight. We can't go through security with him. We can walk with him to security but that's it. After that we have to turn back. We can't watch Dada's plane take off or anything. Granny says that a long time ago, people used to walk through security and watch planes take off and land. She says that all changed after September 11 but I don't remember that. I was only a year old in 2001, after all. I glance over at Al and know he's gonna melt down. He's gonna cling to Dada and cry until I have to force him to stop. Then he'll cry all the way home. Always did. This time won't be any different. We get to the security terminal and Dad sighs. We all stop walking and Dad turns to look at Al and me.

"Okay, boys," he says gently. "I have to go now." Al's lip trembles and he shakes his head. "Granny Pinako will take care of you. Listen to what she says and behave."

"Dada," Al says pathetically, "Dada don't go!"

"Alphonse, honey, I have to," Dad tells him softly. "I'll be back on Monday."

"You could stay," I protest softly.

"Edward," Dad sighs, "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you while I'm gone. You'll spend the week with Granny and everything will be alright." Al sniffles loud enough for both of us and Dada pulls us into a hug. "I love you both."

"Daddy," Al whimpers, hugging him tighter. "Please don't go. I'll be good, promise."

"Al, baby, I'm not going away because you or Brother are bad," Dada tells him. "It's part of my job." Dada pulls away and looks at Al. "Brother and Granny are going to take care of you. Brother and Granny will remind you to do your homework, take showers, and eat. They won't let anything bad happen to you. I know you'll miss me, but you can call me every day if you want." Al nods and tries wiping his face. Dad turns to me and says,

"Granny's going to take care of you, Ed. She's going to keep you safe, fed, and clean. No one is going to hurt you or your brother while I'm away. You're safe, honey." I nod and Dada pulls me into a hug.

"I love you," I say. Dad kisses my head.

"I love you, too," he replies ending the hug. He then hugs Al, Al whimpering violently.

"Don't go," Al begs.

"Sweetie, I have to," Dada tells him. It's just like when we were little. I wonder how long Al will cling to Dad this time. "I love you so much, honey. I see you in a week." Dad kisses his hair.

"I love you, too, Dada," Al sniffles. Dad pulls away and turns to Granny.

"I'll leave a message when I land," he tells her. Granny nods.

"Good," she says. "Enjoy yourself over there, Hohenheim." Dad nods and I know he needs to go. It's like removing a Band-Aid; the quicker you do it the better. He smiles warmly at me and Al and turns away. He walks off and I take Al's hand. Al starts shaking violently as Dad walks off and I know he's gonna start crying. I can see Winry walk over in the corner of my eye and she takes Al's other hand.

"Let's go home," she says with a smile. "'Kay?" Al nods pathetically.

"Okay," he manages to say.

"Did your father feed you?" Granny asks.

"Yeah," I say.

"Then let's get some ice cream," Granny suggests, walking off. "I'm sure you boys could use some." I nod and help Winry guide Al out.

"Sounds good, Granny," I reply. I don't know if Al will eat his. I don't even know if he'll order any. I glance over at him and I can tell Winry wants to cheer him up. I huff. Good luck with that.

"Hey, Al, guess what?" Winry says.

"What?" Al replies miserably.

"You have to guess!" Winry cries.

"I'm no good at guessing," Al mumbles.

"I finally got LEGO Marvel for my Xbox," Winry announces. "We can play it this week if you want." Al nods.

"Yeah," he says, "I wanna."

"How's Captain adjusting, Granny?" I ask. Al was worried about Picard staying at Winry's house 'cause of Winry's dog. It's not 'cause Den's a mean dog or anything. It's just 'cause Picard scares easily.

"Oh, he's fine," Granny answers. We make it to her car and she says, "I guess he was raised with dogs or something because he and Den get along just fine."

"See, Ally?" I say, trying to be cheerful. "Captain's just fine and so are you." Al smiles weakly and slides into the backseat. I go in after him, Winry in the front with Granny.

"Al, you want ice cream or not?" Granny asks. She knows he doesn't eat when he's stressed or upset. I don't think he'll get anything 'cause of how stressed he is. Al stares at his lap and to my surprise he nods.

"Something chocolatey, I think," Al says with a smile.

"Vote on where to go, then, kids," Granny says, starting the car.

"Dairy Queen!" We all say at the same time. Granny shakes her head.

"You kids are impossible," she chuckles. She pulls out of the parking space and says, "Dairy Queen it is." Al turns in his seat and stares out the window. As we get on the highway we can see planes take off and land.

"You okay?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yeah," he says softly. A plane takes off and Al says, "Bye, Dada." I say bye too. Just not out loud.

It's ten when we get home. Picard meows anxiously at us and Al picks him up. Den greets Winry and she goes to let the dog outside. Al holds Picard up to his face and talks to the cat, Granny muttering about how Al treats his cat like it's his baby. I chuckle at that but realize it's probably true. Oh well. Winry comes back inside with Den and Picard squirms out of Al's arms. Picard is still weary of people he doesn't know so he hisses at Winry and runs off. We're all kind of tired and not in the mood to talk so we go upstairs to get ready for bed. Picard meets us in our room and Al and I change. Al goes to the bathroom first and I stare at the floor. Fear is already rising up in me. It always does when Dad goes away. He's only gone away twice since she got arrested. Once was for a weekend and the other was four nights, three days. Each time I got scared. My nightmares were worse and I couldn't seem to take care of myself. I was terrified that somehow, I was going to get hurt. That she'd find me or Granny would decide I'm bad and hit me. It's stupid and I know it. But I can't change how I felt. Now that Dad's gone again, all those awful feelings are coming right back. Al comes back in and I take his place in the bathroom. I pee and almost forget to brush my teeth. Damn. I'm already forgetting to do basic human things. Awesome. I leave the bathroom and see Al's in my bed. I figured he would be. He's super scared and stressed out. Granny didn't mention the alarms and I guess it's 'cause she figures we'll take care of the waking up part. All she'll need to do is change our sheets. I walk over and tuck Al in before getting into bed myself. The lights are off and Al's nightlight glows softly near the door.

"You okay, Ally?" I ask. Al nods.

"Mmm, yeah," he yawns. "I'm scared but I'll be okay."

"If you get scared and can't sleep, remember your list," I remind him. Al's list is something he recites when he's scared. It's Dad's name, Mom's name, my name, our address, Winry's name, Granny's name, their address, and then he just says things that make him happy until he calms down. He can't always say his list 'cause his brain doesn't work like that. But when he does, it gets him to calm down pretty quick. I have a list, too. It's the same things as his. I can't always get my brain to slow down enough to actually recite it, but when I can, it helps.

"'Kay," Al replies sleepily. "I will."

"Good boy," I praise. "Sweet dreams." Al doesn't reply so I figure he's already falling asleep. I shut my eyes, reciting my list in my head. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. Trisha Elric. Alphonse Elric. 1914 Central Court. Pinako…Rockbell. Winry Rockbell…. 1899 Central Drive…. The trampoline. Video games…. Sleeping late….

A scream. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. A scream. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. A scream. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Screaming. The sounds get tangled up in my brain as I sit up in bed. The alarm's going off and someone's screaming. Wait. Not someone. Al. Al's screaming. I blink before I roll out of bed. Al! I'm sitting on the floor, legless, with damp pajamas. The alarm's blaring and Al's screaming. Nightmare or night terror? I struggle to put my leg on and stand. Al's trashing around in bed, moaning and crying and screaming. I think it's a nightmare. I find the thing that makes noise and turn it off. I get it. Al wet the bed. Shut up. Once the alarm's off I walk over to him. He's trashing around and I feel bad. It's probably a bad idea, but I'm gonna try to wake him up. I lean over the bed and touch his shoulder gently. Al finches and sits up, still screaming.

"Al," I whisper. He's still freaking out. His muscles tense and my heart slows down. Al fights to get away from me and his elbow hits my face. I cry out in pain and Al rolls out of bed. Instantly blood runs down my face and tears of pain prick in my eyes. "Damn it!" Yeah, bad idea. Nice one, Ed. Al's still screaming and I wipe blood on my hand. I get the blood to stop, sniffling and gaging as the blood goes down my throat. I walk over to him and sit cross-legged in front of him.

"Ally," I try again. "It's Brother. It's okay." Al stops screaming and looks at me. He's breathing heavily, fear cemented on his face. I smile weakly at him and say, "It's okay. You're safe. Come here." Al swallows and crawls over to me. He sits on my lap and lowers his head on to my shoulder. I rub his back, Al shaking violently. "Some nightmare, huh?" Al doesn't do anything. Well, that's not true. He starts bawling. I rock back and forth, rubbing his back, and whispering gently to him to get him to calm down. I hear the floor creak behind me and assume it's Granny.

"You boys okay?" She asks tiredly. I nod.

"Yeah, sorry," I say. "Ally had a nightmare. Did the alarm wake you up?"  
"Yeah, but I didn't think you needed me until I heard Al screaming," Granny tells me. "I'll strip the bed."

"It's my bed," I tell her. "Al's bed's dry." Granny walks away and Al's still crying. I notice he doesn't have Chico so I say, "Granny, hand me Chico, please." Granny hands me the stuffed cat and I give it to Al. He takes it but it does little to calm him down. If he keeps crying like this, he'll throw up and I know he doesn't want that.

"I'll be right back to help you with Al," Granny tells me. I nod. I don't think there's much she can really do to help. Al's either gonna stop crying or he'll cry himself out. If he does cry himself out, I'll put him in clean clothes and I'll carry him back to bed. I'll do it 'cause it's my job – the only job I know how to do.

"Shh…" I coo in his ear. "It's okay. It's okay. It was just a dream. You're safe, Al." His cries finally quiet and I guess he's sucking on something. "Wanna try going pee?" I ask him like he's a little kid. But after a nightmare, especially if it's a bad one, Al's sort of like a little kid. He cries and sucks his thumb or Chico and sometimes even needs me or Dada to help him change. It's that regression stuff. I don't know. I do know it's not his fault. Al doesn't do anything at first but soon he nods.

"Good boy," I praise. Al stands up and I stand too. I take his hand and walk him to the bathroom. Granny nods at me and goes into my room. Guess she wants to make sure Al's okay. Makes sense. Al lets go of my hand and walks inside. I wait for him, bouncing on my toes as the water starts running. He remerges, a thumb in his mouth, and takes my hand. We walk back to our room and Granny smiles at him.

"You okay, Al?" She asks quietly. Al nods. "Good. Need help with anything?" Al nods again.

"I'll help him change, Granny," I say. "Go back to bed."

"You're a good brother, Ed," Granny praises. She kisses both of us, wishes us a goodnight, and leaves. Al whimpers and I rub the back of his hand with my thumb.

"You're okay," I tell him. "Brother's got you. You're okay." I guide him to the dresser and find a soft pair of pajamas for him to wear. "Here," I say, handing them to him, "Can you do it yourself?" Al nods. "Good boy." Al nods again and takes his shirt off. I turn my back to give him some privacy and when he's done he tugs on my clothes. I turn to face him and get engulfed in his arms. He whimpers again and I pet his back. "Say your list, Ally," I instruct gently. "It might help."  
"V-Victor von Hohenheim-Elric," Al stutters. "Trisha Elric. Edward Elric. 1914 Central Court. Pinako Rockbell. Winry Rockbell. 1989 Central Drive. Cats. Brother. Painting. Winry. Picard. Coloring. Puzzles." I can hear the tenseness in his voice disappear as he speaks. Good. The list is working.

"Good job," I praise. "All better, right?" Al nods.

"Yeah," he says softly. He rubs his eyes and I smile at him.

"C'mon," I say, "Let's go back to bed. We've got school tomorrow." Al nods and I take his hand. We walk to Al's bed and he crawls in it. I tuck him in and walk over to the other side. I sit down, take my leg off, and lie down next to him.

"Brother?" Al asks, his thumb in his mouth.

"What?"

"Tell me a story," he says.

"Take your thumb out of your mouth first, Al," I instruct gently. "Dada doesn't want you to do that." Al nods. He holds Chico close and I say, "What kind of story do you want to hear?"  
"A happy one," Al yawns. "Something to help me go to sleep."

"Okay," I reply. I'll just make one up. I don't think he'll be awake much longer. "A long time ago, there was a kingdom that was plagued by a dragon. It ate their food and slept on their roofs and caused millions in property damage." Al giggles softly and I continue, "But what the kingdom didn't know was that dragon was just lonely. He ate their food and slept on their roofs because he just wanted to make friends. So the king ordered a brave knight to go and slay the dragon. But when he got to the dragon's cave, he heard the dragon crying. He walked inside and asked the dragon what was wrong. The dragon told him that all he wanted were friends and the knight felt bad for him. So the knight told the dragon that he would be his friend and the dragon was so happy." I hear Al's breathing deepen so I stop talking. I know soon one of us will be up again with a nightmare. But I also know that we'll take care of each other. I watch Al's chest rise and fall and I smile. He's safe. And since he's safe, I am, too. I curl up next to him and shut my eyes, Al's gentle breathing lulling me to sleep.


	25. Mental Health Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Just as a warning there are depictions of child abuse in this chapter! Enjoy!

When my alarm for school goes off, I can barely lift my head. Last night was rough. After Al's huge nightmare, I ended up having one a couple hours after that took forever to recover from. After that we slept really restlessly and now we're beat. Like, I can't get out of bed. I'm too tired. Beside me Al groans. He sits up only to fall back down on the bed with a soft thud. Picard bristles at the motion and jumps off his lap, his tail flicking angrily 'cause Al woke him up. Al tries sitting up again and succeeds, his head hanging. I manage to sit up and groan. I rub my face with my hands and swing my leg over the bed.

"Uh, Brother?"

"What?" I answer wearily.

"I can't go to school," Al tells me tiredly.

"Same," I reply. Granny peeks into our room and grimaces at the sight of us. She walks in and shakes her head.

"You boys look terrible," she comments. "Bet you feel terrible, too."

"Oh, we do," I answer. My eyes are itching and I can barely hold my head up. Granny frowns and shakes her head again.

"Bah," she barks. "Take a mental health day, kids."

"Oh, God, thank you," I sigh, falling back into bed.

"No problem," Granny replies. "I'll be at the garage on and off all day today. Just so you know."

"Okay," I say, curling up under the covers.

"Don't get into trouble while I'm gone," Granny warns. I nod and I hear her leave. I turn to talk to Al but find he's already asleep, drool running down his face. I shake my head and soon, I'm asleep too.

I sleep until ten. Al's still sleeping but I decide that he needs to wake up. Mostly it's selfish. I just don't want to sit in Granny's house alone. But I've justified it by saying he shouldn't sleep all day. So I force him to wake up and we walk downstairs. Al and I take mental health days sometimes. When our anxiety's really bad or we don't sleep well, Dada lets us stay home from school. If Dad can't get off work to watch us, we hang out in his office so he can take care of us. I don't know why Al and I have such a hard time remembering to do simple human tasks. I really don't. But we do. We make it down stairs and sit in the living room. Picard joins Al on the couch and I turn the TV on. Day time TV is lame, but Al and I sometimes watch The Price is Right and laugh at it. Until then we flip through channels and Al pets Picard with a shaking hand. The show starts and we watch it but neither of us make fun of it. We're too warn out for that. It ends and I check my watch. It's noon. Al hasn't eaten yet and he didn't pee when he woke up. I grimace. I hope he isn't so detached that he forgot that using the bathroom is important. That doesn't happen as much anymore but every once in a while he gets that bad.

"Al," I say, "Do you need to pee?" Al looks over at me and nods. I exhale in relief and say, "Okay, let's go." Al nods again and gently places Picard on the couch.

"Be back soon," he tells the cat. He lightly touches Picard's nose and takes my hand.

"Cold and wet or dry and warm?" I ask.

"Cold and wet," Al asks. "I like his nose either way, but I like it when it's cold better for some reason."

"When Captain's nose is dry it feels like his tongue," I say. "Feels like sandpaper." Al laughs and nods.

"Oh, that's true," Al agrees. We get to the bathroom and Al says, "Thanks for reminding me."

"No problem," I say. "Let's eat after."

"Mmm, 'kay," Al replies. "Then we'll have to remember to brush our teeth." I nod. I'm good at reminding Al to take care of himself and he's good at reminding me to take care of myself. That is, Al's good at taking care of me when he's taken care of. If he's not taken care of he can't take care of me. So as long as I keep him clean and fed, he can do the same for me. Al lets go of my hand and Den walks by. I pet the dog and when Al's done I decide I should pee, too. So I do and when I'm done I take Al's hand again. I guide him to the kitchen and I rummage around for something to eat. Left overs, easy things we can make in the microwave, and I find a note from Granny.

I'll be back at noon to feed you. Hold tight until then.

Granny

"What's that, Brother?" Al asks curiously.

"Granny's gonna be home soon," I reply. "She's gonna feed us."

"Mmm, 'kay," Al hums, sitting at the table. I sit down to and Al looks up at me. "What are you gonna talk about tomorrow, Ed?"

"One of the games," I answer. "Then I guess I'll talk about the wedding."

"That was a bad day," Al says softly.

"Yeah," I agree. There are three days that live in infamy in my head. April 8, 2005 – Mom died that day. June 17, 2006 – Dada married her that day. October 3, 2013 – the day she went to trial after the most miserable summer of my life. Those are the three days I hate the most. Those are the days I take mental health days. Those are the days I wish would just get scrubbed off every calendar for the rest of my life.

"If Dada marries Lucy, d'you think the wedding will be fun?" Al asks.

"I don't know," I answer quickly.

"I hope so," Al sighs. "A fun wedding would be nice."

"Could you drop it?" I snap. "I don't wanna talk about that!" Al finches and nods.

"Sorry," he whimpers. "Okay." I sigh and shake my head.

"Sorry, Al," I apologize. "I just don't wanna talk about that." Al nods.

"Okay," he says softly. "I'm sorry." I smile weakly at him and stand up. I ruffle his hair and Al laughs.

"Don't be," I tell him. "It's okay."

"Boys! You up?" Granny calls as the door opens.

"Kitchen!" I call back. Granny walks into the kitchen and smiles at us.

"Morning," she teases. We grin and she puts a sack of food on the table. "Sorry, boys, but I can't eat with you. Are you gonna be okay until Winry gets home?" Granny knows that we have issues taking care of ourselves when we're anxious. But honestly, I'm not that anxious right now. I didn't stay home 'cause my anxiety was awful. I stayed home 'cause I was freaking tired. I don't know how Al's anxiety is, but just looking at him I guess it's not too bad.

"We'll be okay," I tell her.

"If you're sure," Granny says. She kisses us good-bye and leaves again. We tear into the bag of food, eating in silence and talking only with our eyes until the front door opens again.

We sat at the table until Winry came home from school. She looked worriedly at us before asking how our day was. We both shrugged. There wasn't really much to tell her. We sat around in our pajamas all day and didn't even brush our teeth. Winry seemed really worried for some reason and she pestered us until we got dressed and brushed our teeth. So now I'm just sitting on her couch but wearing jeans. Oh, joy. On mental health days I like to just lay around in my pajamas. I know Al likes that, too. But Winry gets worried for some reason when we take mental health days. I think it's 'cause she gets pulled back to a time where our mental health days meant we laid in bed all day and didn't do anything. We didn't eat, bathe, or do anything normal humans do. We're better than that now. Now we sit on a couch and forget to do normal human things. But with a little prompting we'll do it. You just gotta know how to motivate us I guess. No, motivate isn't the right word. Pull us out of our thoughts so we realize that we haven't showered in three days is more accurate.

After Winry's done with her homework we decide to play video games. Since Winry promised yesterday that we could play LEGO Marvel we start with that. Al gets antsy and it's the most he's moved all day. He's excited to try the game and I can tell it makes Winry feel better. She feels better when we're normal. Well, normaler. Al and I aren't exactly normal kids. Nothing anyone does will make us that way, I think. But we can get close to that. We take turns playing and quickly get bored. Not 'cause the game's bad or boring but because it's exactly the same as all the other LEGO games that we've played a million times. If it ain't broke don't fix it, I suppose. So we decide that it might be fun to use the Kinect. I remember when that thing came out everyone wanted one and it still managed to flop. I think it's the same reason no one really likes Wii Sports; nobody wants to play video games that require movement. But hey, you tried. Anyway, Winry's Xbox came with Kinect so she has one and this dumb dancing game that came with it. It's stupid, but all three of us like the game. We like to see how can dance best so we decide to play that instead. All three of us are kind of competitive. Dada always says that it's good we're not in sports 'cause none of us work well as a team. I don't think that's true but I get what he's trying to say. We want to win individually, not as a team. I get it. And he's right. But I've always kind of wanted to play a sport. When I was a kid, I tried lots of different sports but she never let me join a team. Now I can't imagine being part of one. Maybe if Al did it I could do it too. Maybe.

All the songs on the dance game are old. It's funny 'cause I can remember when they were popular as we scroll through them to pick one to dance to. Winry's going first and I have a pretty good idea what she'll pick. It'll either be Drop it Like it's Hot or Down. Not 'cause she's good at doing the dancing but 'cause she likes to sing loudly to the song as she dances. Winry's actually got a pretty nice voice. I mean, it's not star quality or anything but it's nice. She stays on pitch and can carry a tune really well. She actually used to be part of a children's choir but absolutely hated it. Since she hated it Granny let her quit. She picks Down to dance to and the game loads.

"Get it," I laugh. Winry turns back at me and smirks.

"Wanna make it a contest?" She asks. "We all dance to this song and the winner gets the loser's desert?"

"Sure," I say, accepting the challenge. "Al?"  
"You're on," he says with a smile. The song starts and Winry turns back to the TV. She dances to the song, singing along as the game comments that she's doing well.

"Even if the sky is falling down," she sings and I watch as she dances. I blush, looking at my lap. I like watching her body move that way. Am I a pervert because of that? I don't know. I glance over at Al and he's singing too. He's moving slightly in his seat and I grin. I stand up and pull him to his feet.

"Brother?" He asks. I shush him and start dancing with him. Al giggles and we start dancing behind Winry. It's sabotage but I needed to distract myself from my nasty thoughts about Winry. She doesn't get angry, though. Instead she ignores the game and dances with us and we start singing together.

"Baby don't worry, you are my only, you won't be lonely," we sing, "Even if the sky is falling down! Baby, you won't be lonely, you are my only, even if the sky is falling down! Down, down, down, down, down!" The song ends and Winry gets her score but ignores it. We laugh loudly, the game booing her because she failed the song. She doesn't care, though. I think all she really cares about is that this dumb game managed to make Al and me laugh. Al and I aren't obnoxious teenagers often and I think Winry's made it her goal in life to help us act that way more often. She thinks it's part of the teenage experience. I don't know. What I do know is that I'm glad she cares enough to make us laugh and act silly, even on bad mental health days.

Granny gets home during our dance-a-thon. After the first song, Winry put on another one and all three of us danced to it at the same time. It really confused the computer, though, and we lost every time. Not that we really cared. It was more fun that way. Granny made dinner and when it was over we sat around and did some homework. Al and I were functioning better after a day of sitting around so the homework Winry brought home for us could actually get done. I gnaw on my pencil as I work, bad thoughts beginning to rise up in me. What if we have another bad symptom day tomorrow? We can't afford another mental health day. I sigh; our symptoms can get ugly. I really don't want to put Granny and Winry through that. But I can't control what my anxiety or depression or PTSD does so I'm stuck. If my symptoms are gonna get ugly they're gonna get ugly. Al suddenly stands and I check my watch. It's only nine thirty but I guess he's tired. He walks up to our room and I put my stuff down. I follow him and we both end up in our room. Al takes his shirt off and puts a pajama shirt on. He bends over and I say,

"You need to take a shower first." Al jumps a little and stares at me.

"Brother," he breathes. He shakes his head and says, "I didn't know you followed me."

"Sorry," I say. "Didn't mean to scare you." Al smiles weakly.

"I can shower in the morning. I'm really tired." Al says.

"But you could forget," I point out. "Besides; if you go into the bathroom to shower it's more likely you'll remember to pee and brush your teeth." Al's brow furrows and his cheeks turn pink. He looks down at the ground and shrugs.

"I don't need you to take care of me," he grumbles.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm not just some big baby you have to take care of!" Al yells. "I know I'm supposed to shower and pee and brush my teeth! Just back off!"

"Hey!" I yell back. "I'm only trying to help! You forget those things sometimes when your symptoms get bad!"

"I don't need your help!" Al cries. "I can take care of myself!"

"Like hell you can!" I argue. "You would have peed yourself this afternoon if I didn't remind you to get up and pee!" Al blushes really hard and he shakes his head.

"No!" He yells. "I wouldn't have! I don't do that anymore!"

"Yeah, you do!" I argue loudly. "Face it – you need me to function and you know it!"  
"Shut up!" Al screams at me. "I do not! I don't need you!"

"Whatever," I mutter angrily. "Do what you want. If you want to skip a shower and forget to brush your teeth that's your problem." I turn to leave when the floor creaks behind me.

"Brother."

"What the hell do you want?" I demand. "Want to yell at me some more?!" I turn around and Al's crying. My face softens and he sniffles loudly.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I sigh. "I know it's embarrassing. But it's okay to need help sometimes, Al. We all need it." Al nods.

"I know," he cries softly. "But it feels like I need a lot more if it than other people."

"Well, that's 'cause you do," I say. "But it's not a bad thing. You'll get to the point where you can take care of yourself but right now you can't. It's okay." Al cries harder and I pull him into a hug. "C'mon, Ally," I say gently. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," Al cries, "I do need you."

"I know," I reply. "I know you do." I pet his hair until he calms down. "You really should shower, buddy. Your hair's getting gross. How long has it been?"

"I haven't showered since…." Al trails off and pulls away. There's blush crawling across his face as he says, "Since Saturday."

"Oh," I say. "Well, that's okay. Go take a quick one now." Al nods and I gasp.

"What?" Al asks worriedly.

"I just remembered something," I say. I wave my hand and say, "It's not important. Go take your shower."

"Are you sure?" Al presses. I smirk. Oh, I'm fine. I just thought of a way to help Al remember to take care of himself, something that worked before. I nod.

"Yup," I say. "I'll wait for you here, 'kay?" Al nods.

"Mmm, 'kay," he replies. "Be back soon." I nod and watch him leave. Once he's gone I hurry downstairs and look for a pack of stickers. There's bound to be one somewhere. Winry loves stickers. I finally find some and grab a piece of paper before hurrying back up to my room.

When Al was twelve, he responded really well to a sticker chart. Well, it wasn't really a chart. It was more like a piece of paper with stickers all over it. Dada would give him a sticker when he'd remember to do something on his own like taking a shower or eating. He also got a sticker when he'd do whatever it was me or Dada would remind him to do. We stopped doing it sometime last year but I can't remember why. I think it's 'cause his good days started to outweigh his bad ones so Dad didn't think he needed it anymore. But this week, I think he does. He needs to be told he's doing a good job. I just hope it doesn't backfire. I don't want him to think I think he's a baby. 'Cause I don't. I really don't. Al just…. Well, he needs help remembering that taking care of himself is important. He thinks so little of himself that self-care gets forgotten. I'm the same way. Somedays I don't really care all that much about how I smell or if my clothes match or if I eat. And that's when Al reminds me it matters. It goes both ways.

"Brother?" I look up and Al's walking in. I smile at him.

"Hey," I greet. "Come here a second." Al walks over and his brow furrows when he sees the stickers and the paper.

"What are you doing?" He asks.

"Well, I thought you'd like to collect stickers this week," I explain. "If you don't wanna, it's fine, but I thought it might help you remember to take care of yourself." Al stares at me and I'm scared he's upset. But soon a smile spreads across his face and I relax.

"Yeah!" He cries eagerly. "Okay!"

"So, you took a shower," I say with a smile, "So that's a sticker."

"And I brushed my teeth," Al tells me. "And I went pee."

"Good boy," I praise. I put three stickers on the paper and Al takes it from me. He frowns and I ask, "What's the matter?"  
"You should collect stickers, too," Al tells me. I blush and Al says, "That way I can keep track so I can help you better." I look up at him and Al smiles at me. "I'll do my best to help you take care of yourself too, Brother." I smile weakly. Al's so nice. It's like he knows exactly what I need to hear all the time.

"You're the best," I tell him. Al blushes and shakes his head.

"I don't know about that," he replies, "But I do know that I care about you."

"I…. My symptoms are getting bad again," I admit to him softly. "It's 'cause Dada's gone." Al nods.

"Me too," he says.

"So," I say, "Let's help each other so they don't get as bad as they were two years ago. I'll keep you clean and fed, Al. I promise." I hold my fist out for him and he grins. He taps it with his own and says,

"I'll keep you clean and fed, too, Brother. I promise."

"On that note," I say, "I'm gonna shower." Al nods.

"And I'm going to sleep," Al tells me. He sits down on his bed and says, "Don't forget to brush your teeth, Brother." I grin at him.

"I won't," I reply. "I'll tuck you in when I'm done." Al nods.

"'Kay," he answers. I ruffle his hair and leave, knowing full well he'll be asleep long before I get back.

It's Wednesday. I really hate Wednesday. Last night was better than the night before, but I'm still tired. I'm cranky when I'm tired and as I sit through school I debate if I'm even gonna tell my story today. I sigh and rest my face on my hand. Of course I'm gonna tell my story. It's like I have no other choice now. It's such a habit that if I didn't tell it, I don't know if I could function. So even though I really don't want to tell it, I do at the same time. The final bell rings and I hurry to my locker. I beat Al to it like usual and Winry talks to me. She asks if Dada hangs around during group and I tell her no. I don't know what he does for that hour but it's not sit around and wait for us. She nods and asks me if I'm okay. As much as I like that Winry cares about me, I sometimes wish she'd back off a bit. She makes a big deal out of nothing. Like, when I don't talk much she assumes something's wrong. It doesn't. Sometimes I need to internally process things and when that happens I'm quiet. It doesn't mean somethings wrong with me or anything. I know she means well but still. Al finally makes it over and we walk out together. Granny's waiting for us and we all pile into her car. She asks how school was and we all say it was fine. Well, I think it was. Can't really remember.

Granny drops us off at the building and we walk inside. The group's not all here yet and Al and I take our usual seats. My palms are sweating. I really don't want to tell my story today. It might make my symptoms worse. It might send me right back to where I was when she got arrested and that was a bad place. But I owe it to myself to see this through to the end. I owe it to Al, too. We both need me to tell our story. We need to do it or we'll never stop running from it. I think that's what I want. I really don't know. More people trickle in and I'm silently panicking. I'm so anxious. I can't seem to get my lungs to work right. I know exactly what I'll talk about. I'll describe one of the games she liked to play with us and then talk about the wedding. Oh, God. I can't breathe. I can't. Someone squeezes my hand and I know it's Al. I glance over and he smiles warmly at him. I watch his chest rise and fall and it helps me to breathe again. Al makes me safe. Al makes me feel less anxious. I honestly don't know what I would do without him. Soon, the group all arrives and they all look at me. I take a deep breath, set my watch, and start talking,

"Things got progressively worse for us as the months went on. When Al's fifth birthday rolled around, Vanessa had convinced Dad that he didn't need a party. Al wanted one, though. He wanted to go to Chuck-E-Cheese so he could see what it was like there. A kid in his preschool class had their birthday party there but he wasn't allowed to go. So he wanted to go so he could know what it was like. But Vanessa said no. So we wound up just going to Granny's house and having a tiny little party there. But Vanessa didn't allow games or anything like that. It was about as basic as you can imagine. No balloons and Vanessa didn't even get him a cake. When Granny realized he didn't have one, she and Dada hurried to the store to get one. They couldn't get one that said happy birthday, though. I remember that Dad came back to Granny's house that day, all flustered and frustrated because he thought Vanessa had gotten the cake. Luckily Granny managed to find some letter candies and spelled out 'Happy Birthday Al' on the cake with a big number five candle in the center. I remember that Al cried a lot that day. Even though he got a cake, it was like an afterthought. Dada didn't check with Vanessa to make sure she actually got one so to Al it was like Dad didn't care about him and neither did Granny. I did what I could but I knew that there wasn't anything I could do to help him. If I did, it would only end poorly for both of us.

"After Al's party all Dad could think about was the wedding. It was all he could talk about. It was happening in late June and that whole month was torture for us. It was during that time that Vanessa started playing games with us. Not the fun kind, though. The kind that kept us up at night and scared us to our very core. The first one she came up with involved food. She'd put a full plate of food in front of us and tell us we could eat only if we met certain criteria. The first game ever had to do with being quiet. She said it was the quiet game. I remember it really specifically, too. Al and I were in our room and she told us to play the quiet game. She said that whoever won got some kind prize. We were scared, of course, but we knew better than to disobey. So Al and I stayed quiet for hours until dinner time. We came down for dinner and Vanessa asked us who won the game. We told her that no one did; it was a tie. So Vanessa smiled and put two plates of food in front of us. We stared up at her and she gave us the okay to eat. We exchanged glances, wondering if it was really okay to eat. But it had been a few days so we were hungry. And she did say that there would be a prize when we won. So we each picked up a fork and took a bite.

"That was a mistake.

"In an instant the plates were completely broken and food was splattered on the wall because Vanessa threw the plates. We were confused, shivering as we waited to see what she was going to do to us. Vanessa stood, her shadow engulfing us both as she demanded to know who gave us permission to eat. We told her she did and realized that was another mistake. She smacked us both, calling us liars and thieves. I remember being really confused by her mood swing. I won the quiet game. I was allowed to eat 'cause it was my prize. But I was wrong. I quickly realized as her games got more and more elaborate that there was never a way to win. Her games were a way to keep us in line, especially when Dada was home. She could abuse us that way without really ever laying a finger on us.

"As May became June, Dada stopped traveling. He needed to focus on the wedding so Vanessa played the food game with us a lot. She would also put us in the corner for no reason just so we'd stay out of her hair. As the big day loomed closer, I remember feeling sick to my stomach. I didn't want Dada to marry Vanessa. I wanted to tell him everything so he wouldn't marry her. But I never had the courage to. That is, I didn't have the courage to until about three days before the wedding. The rehearsal dinner was happening soon at some fancy restaurant. Vanessa had to work so Dad took me and Al to scope it out. He was trying to make conversation but Al and I weren't really all that talkative. He seemed worried so after he showed us the wedding hall he took us out for ice cream. But we didn't touch it. We sat in the restaurant and allowed our ice cream to melt.

"'Is something wrong?' Dada asked us. Al didn't do anything but I could feel the words rising up in me like puke. I knew better. I knew I shouldn't say anything to him. But before I could stop myself I blurted,

'I don't wan' you to marry her!' Both Al and Dad looked at me. Al's eyes told me everything I needed to know in that moment. I messed up. We both knew I did. When Vanessa came home that night Dada would tell her what I said. And somehow, I'd get in trouble for it. I started shaking and blinked away tears.

'Ed,' Dad said softly. 'Are you scared that I'm trying to replace Mom?' No. No, I wasn't. I knew that Vanessa couldn't replace Mom. Vanessa was mean and Mom wasn't. But despite that, I felt myself nodding. Maybe Vanessa would go easy on me if I said yes to Dada's question. Maybe.

'Yeah,' I sniffled miserably. 'I don' wan' you to forget 'bout Mama.'

'Oh, sweetie,' Dada sighed, 'I could never ever forget about Mom. Mom was special and I loved her very much. No one could ever replace her.' I nodded but said nothing. There was nothing else to say. I wasn't really afraid of Dada replacing Mom. What I was afraid of was Vanessa joining our family for real. But I knew then that my concerns weren't going to be taken seriously. I knew then that when it came to Vanessa, I would never ever win.

"That night I stayed up in my room with Al. I was terrified of what Vanessa would do to me when she found out what I told Dada at the ice cream place. Would she beat me even though Dad was home? Would she make up some new game to play with me? Would she make me stand at the mirror and chant how I was bad over and over again? I didn't know. I didn't want to know. The door opened and I frantically turned toward it. At first I thought maybe Dada was coming to put me and Al to bed but I was wrong. It was Vanessa. She grinned at me and shut the door behind her. I whimpered and tried to hide Al behind me. I always did my best to protect Al. She didn't always let me, of course, but I tried. I took more beatings so he wouldn't have to get hit as often. It was all I could do to protect him, really. Vanessa smirked at me and walked over.

'Heard what you told Daddy earlier,' Vanessa informed me. She grabbed my hair and said, 'You little shit. I know you lied to him.'

'I-I'm sorry,' I managed to say.

'You know what your little stunt just cost you?' Vanessa asked. I shook my head and she said, 'You and Al aren't going to the wedding.' My heart slowed to a stop.

'What?' I breathed. Vanessa chortled loudly at me.

'You heard me, stupid,' she chided. 'Vic doesn't want you at the wedding. He doesn't want you messing up our special day.' Al whimpered and Vanessa glared at him.

'Don't you start crying or I'll give you a reason to cry,' Vanessa warned him. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't! How could she take that away from us!? How?!

'Dada!' I cried, Vanessa smacking me instantly.

'What the hell are you doing?' She demanded. I blinked. I really wasn't sure. It was instinct, I guess, to call for him. Soon Dada was in the room and Vanessa wasn't holding on to my hair anymore. I ran over to him and gave him a big hug, shivering violently. Al hurried over too, demanding to be held as Dada hugged me.

'What's wrong, Ed?' Dada asked.

'Dada, please let me go to the wedding!' I begged. 'Please! I'm sorry 'bout wha' I said! I wanna go! Please, Dada!' Dada smiled sadly at me and kissed my hair.

'Don't worry, Ed,' Dada assured me. 'You and Ally are my guests of honor.' I looked up at him, tears in my eyes and he said, 'I won't get married unless you two are there.' I grinned weakly but turned briefly to look at Vanessa.

'But Nessa said….' I trailed off, the words getting lost somewhere. I knew I was being stupid. I shouldn't have told Dada that Vanessa told me and Al that we weren't going to the wedding. But I did anyway. I don't really know why, though. I guess it's 'cause since Dada was home I felt safe enough to. I don't know.

'Well, I think Nessa misheard me,' Dada tells me gently. 'You and Al are going and nothing will change that.'

'But I thought we agreed it was too stressful,' Vanessa argued sweetly.

'Hon, I won't get married without my sons,' Dad said sternly. 'End of discussion.'

'What if they were sick?' Vanessa questioned. Dada sighed and I felt my heart stop.

'Guess we'd have Pinako take care of them during the ceremony,' Dad replied. 'But they'd be there. I will not get married without my sons present.'

'Alright,' Vanessa said cheerfully, though I could tell she was pissed. She just lost. I knew then that though Dada was more inclined to believe Vanessa when it came to discipline and things, he was the only one who could beat her at her own game. He could shoot her down and beat her. He was the only one who could do it. And because of that, we got to go to Dada's wedding. I smiled happily and Dada kissed my hair. I was so happy. Little did I know that the wedding would be a living hell for us both.

"On June 17, 2006, my house was all awake before nine. Vanessa was trying to find an excuse why we couldn't go but was failing. Dada had made up his mind. He wanted us there. It was one of the few times growing up that I actually felt wanted by Dad. Dad got Al and me dressed and while he was getting ready Vanessa payed us a visit. She screamed at us and told us we ruined her wedding day just by existing. She told us that soon, we'd pay for it but she was going to give us a preview. We were terrified and when she grabbed my arm, I screamed. I fought to get away, screaming for Dada to come save me. But he was getting ready and couldn't hear my cries as Vanessa dragged me to outside of the room. We were in the basement of the church they were getting married in. It had these big metal doors that I was scared of getting smushed between. Vanessa pulled me over to the doors that led to the staircase upstairs and opened it. She forced my hands inside and the door slammed on them. I screamed again, Al watching fearfully from the hallway. I started crying, Dada hurrying out of his dressing room and over to me.

"'Ed!' He cried worriedly, 'Ed, baby, are you okay?'

'He didn't quite get his fingers out of the way, Vic,' Vanessa lied. Dada took my hands and grimaced.

'Oh, dear,' he mumbled.

'D-Dada,' I whimpered, 'It doesn't hurt. Let me go to the wedding.' Dada smiled at me and kissed my forehead. He turned to Al and said,

'Ally, help me find some ice for Brother's hands.' Al nodded eagerly and ran over. He took Dada's hand and Dad picked me up. As he iced my hands I felt so terrible. I wanted to tell him that Vanessa did that to me. I wanted to tell him everything. I wanted to tell him she was the reason we were bad kids, that she hit us, and that we were scared. But I couldn't. I was too scared to. What if he didn't believe me? What if Al got hurt 'cause I snitched? What if Dada got hurt 'cause I snitched? So instead I kept buried deep inside and that afternoon, Dada got married to my abuser."

My watch goes off and I quickly silence it. Everyone stares at me like always before other people begin to talk. I sigh, thinking about Dada's wedding day. If I had just been brave, I could have told him everything right then and there. I could have prevented the seven years of hell Al and I were forced to endure. But I couldn't. I wasn't brave. I was scared. I was weak. And Al suffered because of my weakness. I squeeze his hand and he glances over at me. I tell him with my eyes that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell Dada the truth on his wedding day. I'm sorry I never told anyone the truth. I'm sorry that the only reason we got rescued from it all was 'cause Al had to have a breakdown at Winry's. I'm sorry that I couldn't do more to protect him, to keep him safe. I'm sorry for a lot of things. And Al – Al just smiles at me. He smiles that gentle smile that makes me feel safe and tells me that he knows I did all I could for him. He knows that I was scared and that it's okay. He doesn't blame me. I smile weakly at him and we don't talk again until group's over.

Al and I walk outside the office building to meet Granny and Winry. It was weird to not have Dada come inside to get us like always. He can't do that, though, 'cause he's in London. Stupid London. I shake my head. It's not London that's stupid, really. It's his dumb conference that took Dad away from us this week. Stupid work. I push the door open and my eyes take a minute to adjust to the light. Granny's car is sitting near the curb, Winry staring at her phone. Her eyes are wide and my brow furrows. I drag Al over to her and ask,

"What are you doing?" I ask. Winry glances up and her eyes widen.

"Ed!" She cries like I've been gone for a million years or something. I chuckle at her and she pushes me.

"What the hell, Winry!?" I demand, Al cowering behind me.

"Don't laugh!" She yells. "Miss Izumi called me!"

"What's going on?" I ask worriedly.

"Her foster kid ran away!" Winry informs me worriedly, tears forming in her eyes. "They can't find him anywhere!"

"What?" Al breathes. "They can't find him?" Winry shakes her head.

"No," she cries. "I'm sorry I pushed you, Ed, but this is serious!"

"Yeah, I know," I reply. "It's okay."

"Brother," Al says, tugging on my clothes, "We should go to Teacher's house. We have to help her find Wyatt!"

"Can Granny take us there?" I ask.

"Of course," Winry tells me. "She wanted to make sure it was okay with you guys if we went over there. Granny and I were going to go with or without you." I nod.

"Okay," I say. "Let's go." Winry nods and we get in the car. Winry tells Granny that we need to go to Teacher's and she looks at me and Al.

"You sure you boys can handle it?" She asks us. We nod.

"Yeah," Al answers.

"Granny, Teacher and Sig need our help," I say. "And Lil' Nugget's probably scared. We have to help in any way we can." Granny nods and we drive away from the building. I wonder why Lil' Nugget ran away. Did something scare him? Was he afraid that Teacher was going to hurt him? Maybe he's moving homes already and it freaked him out. Whatever the reason is, I'm going to find him. Teacher doesn't deserve to be this worried. She was this worried when Al and me were kids and I won't put her through that again if I can help it.

We get to Teacher's house and hurry inside. The police are everywhere and we push passed them so we can talk to Teacher and Sig. They sitting at their kitchen table, their tired eyes staring blankly at the wood. Granny and Winry hang back to talk to the police while Al and me walk over. We sit down, Teacher and Sig looking up at us. They instantly stand and pull us into a big hug. I hug them back, trying to tell them it's not their fault. Foster kids run away sometimes. It's nothing they did. I can't find any words to say, though. All I can do is wrap my trembling arms around them and hope the gesture is enough to tell them all I'm feeling. The hug ends and Al asks what how long Wyatt's been missing. Teacher says he's been gone nearly three hours. I want to ask what happened, but the bubbles prevent me from doing it. Luckily Al's here so he asks for me. Sig says he isn't sure what set Wyatt off and Teacher doesn't know either. All they found was a picture in his room of me and Al with Teacher and Sig and the frame was busted.

"He might of broken it by accident and was probably scared he'd get hurt," Al says. "I know I used to hide in my house when I was scared Dada would hurt me 'cause I was bad." Teacher sighs and kisses his head.

"We're going back out to look for him soon," Teacher tells us. "But it's a school night and I don't want you or Brother coming with us."

"But Teacher!" Al cries. "We wanna help you!" I want to protest to, but for some reason my throat's closed up and I can't.

"It's just not a good idea," Teacher insists gently. "You and Ed are stressed enough as it is right now. It wouldn't be right of me to bring you along."

"Mrs. Curtis."

My blood freezes as a new but familiar voice floats into the room. There's another reason they don't want us to help. I fearfully glance up and see the one man I had hoped I'd never see for the rest of my life; Officer Roy Mustang. He blinks at me like he's surprised to see me before smiling gently at me.

"Hey, buddy," he says softly. "How are you?" I stand and stand in front of Al who's shaking violently. Teacher's got her hand on Al's head and my lungs stop working. I start wheezing and Teacher puts her free hand on my shoulder. I flinch and swat it away, panic mode starting.

"Edward," she says gently, "It's alright. Officer Mustang is here to help us find Wyatt. That's all. You're safe." I swallow and nod. Al clings to me and starts crying loudly.

"We're sorry!" He cries. "We're sorry!" Officer Mustang smiles at us and walks over. I back away and he pauses.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't realize you boys would be here." I can't say anything. The bubbles have clogged my throat and my lungs aren't working.

"Ed, breathe," Sig reminds me gently. "In and out, okay?" I guess they know to focus on getting me calm first. They know from experience that if I'm calm, it's easier to calm Al down. But I can't seem to breathe. Tears prick in my eyes and my chest feels like it's collapsing. I can't breathe. I can't. Suddenly I'm a little nine-year-old kid who's freaking out in Teacher's kitchen. I grip on to my hair and shake my head.

"I-I c-c-can't b-breathe," I manage to say.

"Of course you can," Teacher insists. "Your body's designed to breathe, Ed. Let's do it together." I nod like a little kid and Teacher says, "In…." I take a shaky breath and Teacher waits 'til I'm done before saying, "Out." I exhale and we start over. In and out. In and out. In and out. Soon, I'm not shaking nearly as hard. I look up at Officer Mustang and blush.

"Uh, sorry," I mumble. He simply shrugs.

"Does Al still liked stuffed toys?" Officer Mustang asks me.

"Uh, yeah," I reply, confused. It's then I remember Al's still scared. He's crying. I turn my attention on to him and say, "It's okay, Ally. He's here to find Nugget, remember?" Al nods and wipes his face.

"Uh-huh," Al sniffles. Officer Mustang walks over and squats down so he can look at Al's face better.

"Hey, kiddo," Officer Mustang greets. "You've gotten bigger since I saw you last. That's good." Al nods and Officer Mustang pulls something out of the bag he has. It's a stuffed bear and he hands it to my brother. Al's brow furrows but he takes it.

"What's this for?" Al asks.

"Well, I don't see your cat so I figured you needed something soft," Officer Mustang explains.

"Oh, I have Chico," Al tells him. He hands the bear back and says, "Thank you." Officer Mustang smiles and pushes Al's shaking hands back toward Al's body.

"Keep it, buddy," Officer Mustang says. "You like stuffed animals, right?" Al nods and Officer Mustang goes on, "Then it's yours. You keep it." Al nods again and switches the bear out for Chico.

"Any sign of him?" Teacher asks worriedly, her hand resting on my shoulder. Officer Mustang shakes his head.

"Not yet, I'm sorry," he answers. Teacher sighs and rubs her forehead.

"We'll find him, Izumi," Sig says.

"Teacher," I say, "Let us help. Please." Teacher glances up at me and smiles.

"Alright," she finally agrees. "I want you and Al to stay with me and we'll only look for an hour. It's a school night and I don't want you boys up too late." We nod, Al takes my hand and I ask,

"What about Sig, Teacher?"

"He'll go with Officer Mustang," Teacher says.

"What about Granny and Winry?" Al asks nervously.

"How about they come with us?" Teacher suggests. "The more eyes the better I say." We nod and Teacher guides us through the doorway. She makes sure we have jackets on before handing us each a flash light. Winry says she'll go with us and Granny decides to hang back. She says too many unfamiliar people might freak Wyatt out and that's the last thing he needs. So we walk out Teacher's front door and begin our search for the lost Lil' Nugget.

The sun is gone and Wyatt's been missing for three and a half hours. We've been walking around for thirty minutes, calling his name desperately into the dark. Officer Mustang is on the phone with Teacher now, asking if we've tried looking at Wyatt's old house. Teacher says no but that the police should head over there. I look around as Teacher pockets her phone and realize I recognize the area. There's a little park nearby that Al and I used to hide at when we were little. I frown and pull Al toward the park. He glances backward at the group and tugs on my arm to get me to stop. But I don't stop. I know Teacher said to stick together but I have a hunch I know where Wyatt is. Al allows me to guide him into the park and we can't hear or see the group anymore. Teacher's gonna be pissed that we wandered off but if we find Wyatt how mad could she be? We make it to the park and I look around. Al clings to my hand, whimpering as a title wave of bad memories washes over us. When Mom died, I ran away. I ran here and hid under the playground until Dada came to find me. When the beatings got rough before we met Teacher, Al and I would hide here until she dragged us home. When I was thirteen and I was scared Dada was gonna hit me I hid here until he came to get me. We know this park. I guide Al to the tunnel and pause.

"Lil' Nugget?" I call. Something moves in the tunnel and Al bends over. He gasps and tugs on my sleeve. I look too and see Wyatt staring at us. I shine my flashlight in the tunnel and see he's been crying. Wyatt whimpers and backs away as Al gets on his hands and knees.

"Hey," Al says softly. "It's okay." Wyatt shakes his head.

"I w-was b-bad," Wyatt whimpers and I see so much of myself in this poor kid. I sit down next to Al as Al says,

"Do you mean the broken picture?" Wyatt nods and starts crying loudly.

"It's okay," I tell him. "Picture frames can be replaced, Wyatt. It was an accident, right?" Wyatt nods again and I say, "Tea…. Izumi will understand. You just need to tell her the truth instead of running away." Wyatt blinks, tears running down his pale face as he stares at me.

"B-But…" he snivels, "That's scary!"

"We know," Al says gently. "We know. But grown-ups like it when we tell the truth."  
"Mommy didn'," Wyatt whimpers and my breath gets caught in my chest. No, Nugget. Don't talk about the abuse you went through. Not now. I can't handle it. I can't.

"I'm sorry," Al says, his voice strained. "I'm so sorry, Wyatt." Al whimpers and starts crying. "I promise Teacher's not like your mommy. Teacher's nice and really cares about you. Please come out. Let's go home." Wyatt shudders before crawling over to us. He crawls up in Al's lap and starts bawling. Al pets his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

"Good job, Al," I praise. "How'd you do that?"

"You," Al says instantly. "You taught me by treating me nice when I'm scared." I blink and pull Al into a hug. He obviously wasn't expecting it but slowly returns it with Wyatt in his lap.

"I love you," I tell him softly. "I'm so proud of you." Al giggles.

"I love you, too, Brother," he whispers. I let him go and Al says, "Let's go find Teacher." I nod and stand. I pull Al to his feet and Wyatt latches on to his waist. "It's okay," Al tells him, "I'll carry you if that's what you want."

"Yeah," Wyatt says pathetically. I put my hand on Al's back and guide him out of the park. We look around and find that Teacher and Winry haven't moved that far. They're calling for us and we walk over.

"Teacher," I say when we're close. She turns on her heal and hurries over. She engulfs me in a hug and says,  
"You and Al better have the best reason I've ever heard for running off. You scared me!"

"We do," I tell her, pulling away. I step aside and Teacher lets out a strangled gasp. Al walks over and Wyatt squirms out his hands.

"Mommy!" Wyatt cries, running over to her. Teacher opens her arms wide and catches him. She lifts him off the ground and Wyatt wraps his legs around her middle.

"Thank God," Teacher breathes. "Thank God." Winry walks over and smiles at us.

"You found him," she says.

"Brother just knew where to look," Al replies. "We understand him; you know?" Winry looks down.

"Yeah," she says softly. She sniffles and I glance over at her. She's crying and I have no clue why'd she'd do that.

"What are you crying for, Winry?" I demand.

"You understand him," she says simply. "And that breaks my heart." I blink and look away from her. There's nothing else to say now. Winry has officially killed the conversation. Or so I think.

"It's okay, Win," Al says gently.

"No, it's not!" Winry cries loudly. "You guys went through so much growing up and there was nothing I could do to help!"

"You can't do that," I tell her. Winry looks over at me and I say, "You can't. It's not your fault." Winry whimpers and pulls me into a hug. She says she loves me over and over and says how sorry she is. Al joins the hug and soon everyone is a big crying mess. Teacher walks over and pulls Al into a one-armed hug, Wyatt resting on her hip. She's not crying on the outside, but inside she is.

"Thank you, boys," she says softly. We nod and Teacher says, "Let's go home." We nod again and I let go of Winry. She takes one of my hands and Al takes the other. We walk back to Teacher's house, hand in hand, Wyatt falling asleep long before we make it back.


	26. Mental Health Day Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't like a good Disney movie?

After we got Wyatt home Teacher gave us hot chocolate to warm us up. Al seemed really tired and he ended up falling asleep at her table. That's when Granny decided it was time for us to leave. I carried Al out to the car and he slept the whole way home. Winry wasn't in the mood to talk but I didn't exactly complain. I wasn't really in the mood to talk, either. I hate that Winry tried to blame herself for what happened. It's not her fault she couldn't do anything. We were all powerless; trapped in a situation that no one could make any better. That is, no one made it better until Al had the courage to tell the truth. So it's not really Winry's fault; it's ours. We're the ones that never told anyone. We're the ones who kept it a secret. She can't blame herself. She can't. We made it home and I dressed Al for bed. I figured he was asleep for the night so I didn't even try waking him up. No point. So I lounged around a bit before getting ready for bed. I have issues doing much of anything without Al around. I don't know why. It's like…. It's like I forget what I like to do for fun when he's not around. It's weird. I don't know. All I know is being without Al is something I hate.

I wake up with a start, my chest heaving. I really wish I could go one night, one freaking night, without waking up for some reason. I try to get my breathing under control but I can't. The park. I used to run to that park all the time to get away from her. So I guess it makes sense that I would have a nightmare where not even the park is safe. Where no place is safe. My lip quivers and I know I'm gonna start crying. But I don't wanna. I'm sick of crying all the time. I take a deep breath, my throat feeling like stiff rubber and tears pricking in my eyes. I whimper and rub desperately at my eyes, tears smearing all over my face. I don't want to wake Al up. I quickly put my leg on and hurry out of the room. I go into the bathroom and lock the door. My chest feels like it's got a hole in it as I struggle to breathe. I slide down the wall, wheezing as I try to get a grip. I shut my eyes, trying to recite my list in my head. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. Trisha Elric. Alphonse Elric. 1914 Central Court. Pinako Rockbell. Winry Rockbell. 1989 Central Drive. Martial Arts. Chemistry. Video games. I take a deep breath and wipe my face. Finally. I look at my watch and groan. It's late. I sit up, realizing I haven't called Dada once since he's been gone. London's eight hours ahead, right? That means Dada's up, right? I stand up and unlock the door. I practically run down stairs, grab Granny's house phone and dial Dada's cell. It rings and I pound my fingers against the wall anxiously as I wait.

"Hello?" Comes Dada's sleepy voice.

"Dada!" I cry.

"Oh, Ed," Dad sighs, "What's the matter?"

"I can't sleep," tell him. "I had a bad dream."

"I'm sorry, honey," Dada yawns. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Wyatt ran away tonight," I explain. "I found him that little park I always used to hide in. Guess it brought up some bad memories. I don't know."

"Well, you're safe now, Ed," Dad tells me.

"How's London, Dada?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation alive. I know it's probably super early in London and I also know that it's possible that Dada woke up when I called him. But I need him to talk to me. It's the only way I'll get back to sleep, I think.

"It's fine," Dad replies with a yawn. "Nice and cool over here. Saw Buckingham Palace yesterday and let me tell you, Ed – it was so fascinating I didn't want to leave."

"Does everyone like your paper?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," Dada answers. "They were impressed by my solution to the problem how that solution increases not only the usability but the accuracy of ELISA. They're going to fund research at Oxford."

"Oh," I breathe. "Will you…. Will you be overseeing that?"

"Of course I will," Dada replies. My breath catches and Dad says, "But I won't be physically there. It'll mostly be Skype calls and every once in a while I'll fly over to see how it's going."

"You can't!" I cry. "You can't go!"

"Ed, honey, you know this is part of my job," Dad reminds me.

"But we need you!" I argue. "Did you know that Al hadn't showered since Saturday and didn't actually take one until yesterday?"

"I didn't know that," Dad says. "But, Ed, it's part of my job. It's my project so I have to oversee it. There's nothing I can do to change that."

"But, Dada! Al also is having trouble remembering to brush his teeth or even get up to pee!" I cry. "His symptoms are getting bad again and they'll stay that way if you oversee a research project! Don't you care about him?!"

"Edward," Dad sighs, "You know I care about Alphonse. But work is important, too. You boys are growing up and soon you'll have grown-up responsibilities to deal with. As much as I would love to stay home and spend every waking moment with you two, it's just not possible. I'm sorry."

"Fuck you," I mutter.

"Excuse me?"  
"I said fuck you!" I yell, hanging up. I'm so mad. I'm so, so mad. I'm seething. How could he do that to us?! We're not ready! He can't push us into something we're not ready for! The phone rings and I check the caller ID; it's Dad and I cringe. I know better than to ignore it so my shaking hands accept the call and hold the phone up to my ear.

"Young man you cannot talk to me that way and then hang up!" Dad scolds harshly. I start heaving and nod.

"I-I'm sorry," I apologize. "I just…. We're not ready, Dada! Why are you doing this so soon!? We aren't ready! We need you!"

"Ed, baby, I know," Dad tells me gently. "But sometimes we have to do things we aren't ready to do. It's part of life, Ed."

"It's not fair," I whimper, tears pricking in my eyes. I try to force them away and say, "It's not fair."

"I know it's not," Dada agrees. "But I won't fly over very often. I promise."

"Okay," I mumble. A muffled alarm is going off and I groan.

"What?" Dada asks.

"It's Al," I grumble. "He's peeing in bed again."

"Well, I guess I should hang up so you can take care of him," Dad says. I shrug.

"I guess."

"Ed," Dad says, "Call me after school, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I reply.

"And Ed?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't bully Alphonse because you're upset," Dad instructs gently. "You know it's not his fault." I nod.

"I know," I say.

"Alright," Dada says, "Go do your job."

"Love you," I say.

"Love you, too." With that Dad hangs up and I set the phone down. I sigh and take a deep breath. I need to be nice to Al. The alarms not going off anymore so that means he stopped peeing. That's something at least. I walk up the stairs, get to our room and see no signs of distress. Also good. It's much easier to use this alarm thing when Al's not in the middle of a nightmare. Easier to wake him up. I walk over to the bed and shake him, Al moaning.

"Ally," I whisper. "C'mon, buddy. Get up." Al stirs and sits up, a hand rubbing at his eyes.

"Mmm, Brother?" He yawns. "School?"

"Not yet," I tell him. "The alarm when off. You need to try going pee." Al blinks at me before nodding.

"'Kay," he says sleepily. He swings his legs over the bed before hanging his head. "Uh."

"I know you're tired," I say, "But you need to get up." Al nods again.

"Uh," he repeats. I take his hand and pull him to his feet. He wobbles for a bit before letting go of my hand.

"What are you doing?" I ask, quickly realizing he's not quite awake.

"Chico," Al mumbles, bending over the bed and patting it. "Where's Chico?"

"Al, forget Chico," I tell him. "We'll find him after you go pee."

"Where's Chico?" Al repeats. "I gotta find him. Where's Chico?" I groan loudly and push him out of the way.

"I'll find the damn cat," I grumble. "Quit being such a baby." Al stands next to me and watches me search for Chico in a mess of damp blankets. When I can't find him I get on the floor and look under the bed. Sure enough the stuffed cat is laying on the floor on the opposite side of the bed. I shake my head and take Al's hand.

"He's over there, Al," I say. "We'll pick him up after we go pee."

"No," Al whimpers. "I wan' Chico."

"Quit being a baby," I say heatedly. "Let's just go pee."

"I wan' Chico!" Al yells.

"Quit being a baby!" I yell back. I glare at him and Al just stares at me. I roll my eyes and let go of Al's hand. I stomp over to the other side of the bed and grab Chico. I throw it at him and say, "There! Now go pee already!"

"Brother," Al whimpers. "I'm scared."

"Isn't that what Chico is for?" I ask bitterly. "Just go on, you big baby!"

"But I'm scared," Al protests meekly. "Come with me."

"No," I say, getting in my own bed. "Go pee by yourself. And don't come crying to me if you pee yourself 'cause you waited too long!" Al whimpers and I hear him walk over to me.

"I'm sorry," Al apologizes. "Please come with me. I don't wanna be by myself!"

"Al," I warn, "Just go. Let me sleep for once in your life." Al blinks and stands. He sniffles loudly and nods.

"Okay," he says quietly. "I'll go."

"Good," I snap. "Get out of here already." Al walks off and I quickly sit up. What the hell, Ed?! Dada just told you to not bully Alphonse! "Wait! Al!" Al pauses, bouncing on his toes, and turns to look at me. There are silent tears running down his face and I feel awful. Like, really awful. I don't know why I've been taking my feelings out on Al lately. When I do shit like that, I'm no better than the kids that bully him at school.

"What?" Al cries softly.

"I'll go with you," I say with a smile. "I know you're tired and scared. I'll hold your hand all the way to the bathroom, 'kay?" Al smiles weakly and nods.

"Yeah," he replies, wiping his face. "Okay."

"Good boy," I praise. I get out of bed and take his hand. "I'm sorry I was mean to you." Al doesn't do anything so I say, "I really shouldn't have said what I said. I like taking care of you."

"Are…. Are you still mad at me?" Al asks pathetically, his lip trembling.

"Nah," I reply. "You're still getting the hang of this. It's fine." Al whimpers and I ask, "What's wrong?"

"Please don't be mad at me," Al begs.

"Ally, I'm not," I tell him, pulling on his arm. "C'mon, buddy." We take a few steps before Al stops moving completely. I gently tug on his arm and say, "You're almost there. You're doing so good. Just a bit further." He whimpers again and before I know it, Al's throwing up all over the floor. Guess he's pretty anxious and upset. All because of me. I sigh sadly and watch as Al continues throwing up. He jerks forward again and I lose my grip on his hand. This is my fault. If I would have gotten Chico for him and walked him like I was supposed to, this wouldn't have happened. Al finally stops throwing up and I grimace. Oh, man, Al made a mess. He starts shaking violently, shivering as he stands in the hallway. Picard meows at us and hurries over, brushing his body against Al's leg.

"I'm sorry," Al says miserably. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I tell him. "This is my fault. I was a dick earlier. I didn't do what I was supposed to do and that made you upset and anxious. I'm sorry, Al."

"I wanna try going pee, still," Al cries miserably.

"Okay," I say. "Okay. Let's go. No harm in trying, right?" Al nods pathetically and I walk him the rest of the way to the bathroom. "Al, I'm gonna get Granny, okay? She'll clean all this up and we can just go back to sleep."

"Don't," Al says sharply. He's shaking still and I feel a panic attack coming on. I reach for him and he flinches away from me. "Don't touch me!"

"Hey, it's okay," I say gently. "It's just me." Al starts wheezing and I know it's too late.

"Don't get…. Don't g-g-get her," Al heaves. "I-I c-can b-b-be good."

"Ally, you're not in trouble," I insist. "It's okay. You need to breathe, buddy." Al shakes his head and starts screaming. I hesitantly walk over and say, "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you. You're safe." Al shakes his head again and hurries away from me. I guess he's gonna go hide. I sigh and hear a door open. I turn my head toward Winry's door and see her head peeking out.

"What's wrong?" She yawns. I blush.

"Al…. He, uh…. Well, he…. I didn't…. It's complicated." Winry nods.

"Is he okay?" Winry asks.

"No," I reply. "He's having a panic attack. Maybe a flashback. Not sure. I have to go find him."

"I can go with you," Winry offers.

"Uh, I don't know," I mumble. Al may not want her to see him the way he is right now. I mean, I know he knows she knows his symptoms but still – he may not like it. "He might get embarrassed when it's all over."

"Well, okay," she says. "G'night, Ed."

"Yeah," I say, "Night." Picard meows anxiously at my feet and I sigh. "Sorry, Captain," I apologize. "This is all my fault. I was mean to him." Why was I mean to him? I don't understand. Why am I so mean to Al sometimes? Why am I so angry with him? 'Cause I don't wanna be mean to Al. Al doesn't need that from me. What he needs is me to be nice and gentle so he knows I love him. 'Cause I do. I do love him. I love him more than anyone else on this planet. But I sure haven't treated him that way recently.

I shake my head and start walking. I avoid the puke on the ground and hurry downstairs. I hurry to Granny's room and wake her. I explain what happened and she says she'll take care of it. I nod and move on to finding Al. I bet he's hiding in a closet somewhere. I call for him, Picard trotting alongside me in the still night. He doesn't answer so I try calling again. Nothing. My heart begins beating funny and I call for him louder. Silence. Where's Al? I look around the house, my heart stalling when I see the back door is open. I run out of it and there's no sign of Al in the yard. Den barks at me from the fence and I run over. Part of Al's pajamas are on the fence. His clothes must have gotten snagged and ripped when he hoisted himself over. Oh, no. Al ran away. Al ran away! My brain's in panic mode and I hurry back inside. I run frantically up the stairs, unable to breathe properly. Granny's cleaning the floor up and I hurry over to her.

"Granny, Al ran away!" I shout. Granny instantly stops moving.

"What?" She demands.

"The back door's open and a piece of his pajamas is stuck on the fence!" I cry. My lip trembles and I start bawling. "I'm sorry, Granny! This is all my fault! I bullied him when the alarm went off instead of helping him! It's all my fault!" Granny sighs and rises to her feet.

"Come now, Ed," she says gently. "Yes, it was wrong to bully your brother but you did all you could to calm him down after the fact. I know you did." I'm still crying loudly but I nod. Granny pets my hair and says, "I'll wake Winry. He couldn't have gotten far." I nod again and Granny goes into Winry's room. I sniffle, a realization dawning on me. I wasn't the only person who ran away to the park when I was a kid. I know where Al's going.

"Granny!" I call. "I know where he's going!"

"Ed, don't you run off too!" Granny yells from inside Winry's room.

"But I know where he is!" I argue. "He's going to the neighborhood park!"

"What if you're wrong?" Granny demands.

"Then he's going to Teacher's," I say. "You can meet me but I'm going after him now!" I don't wait for an answer. I pull a hoodie on, slip on some shoes, and hurry out the door.

I practically run the whole way to the park. It's super dark, but the streetlights manage to give off enough light that I'll be able to see Al. I make it to the park and stop briefly to catch my breath. Once I'm breathing I walk in the park, mulch crunching under my feet. I glance around and spot Al sitting on the swings. I shake my head and walk over. He glances up at me and quickly looks away again. I sigh and sit next to him, the swing swaying due to the change in weight.

"Hey," I greet. Al doesn't reply. I run a hand through my hair and say, "I'm sorry. This whole mess is my fault." Al looks up at me and I can tell he's beat. But I can also tell he's hurt. I hurt his feelings big time earlier.

"You hate me, don't you?" Al asks miserably. "You think I'm bad and disgusting just like she did. You think I'm a waste of your time." A little wail escapes his lips and he says, "You just wanna sleep at night and you can't 'cause of me!"

"Can I put my arm around you?" I ask. I don't want to freak him out by touching him if he isn't okay with it. Al's head bobs up and down so I put my arm around him. I pull his swing closer to me and Al instinctively rests his head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Brother," he cries.

"Shh, it's okay," I coo gently. "I don't hate you. I was a real dick to you earlier and I'm sorry. I don't think you're bad or disgusting or a waste of my time. I love you more than anyone or anything else, Al."

"But you're so tired," Al protests softly. "All you want is to sleep at night and you can't 'cause of me."

"No," I say. "No, that's not true. Al, I keep myself up, you know. You're not the only one with sleeping problems. We both have 'em. It sucks but it's the way our life is right now."

"It's shitty," Al spits quietly. "That's what it is." I chuckle at him.

"Yeah, you're right," I agree. "Sucks doesn't quiet cover it."

"Unless you add a 'sucks balls' on the end," Al adds with a chuckle. I smile at him and kiss his forehead. Al giggles lightly and I smile at him.

"C'mon," I say, "Let's go home." Al slides down and he's laying on the swing like a drama queen.

"Carry me, peasant," Al demands sleepily. "My legs are all shaky." I shake my head at him.

"Alright," I say. "Just don't call me a peasant. Everyone knows the oldest sibling is the king." I put my arm underneath Al's legs and pick him up. Al rests his head on my chest and laughs.

"Nah," he replies. "You only think you're king 'cause your older. Truth is, Brother, the younger siblings have all the power. Comes with being the baby."

"Shut up," I tease. "You're so full of yourself."

"Yup," Al says tiredly. "You know it."

"Ed!"

I look ahead and can faintly make out Granny. I walk over to her and she exhales in relief. "You found him."

"Well, yeah," I reply. "You just gotta know where to look." Granny smiles at me.

"C'mon, boys," she says. "Let's get you home." I nod and fall in stride with her.

"Hey, Granny," I say, Al falling asleep.

"Yes?"

"Al's symptoms are getting bad," I say sadly. "He might need to stay home tomorrow."

"Your father only allows one mental health day per month, Ed," Granny reminds me."

"Yeah, I know," I reply, "But Al needs it, I think."

"What Hohenheim doesn't know won't hurt him, I guess," Granny sighs. "How about you and Ally stay home tomorrow? Take care of yourselves so Friday you'll be ready to go to school."

"Okay," I reply. "Thanks. Al appreciates it."  
"You know, Ed," Granny says softly. "Getting worse happens before you get better. That's how it works."  
"I know," I say, not meeting her eyes. "It's just…. Well, we've been in therapy for two years. You'd think our ugly symptoms would be gone by now!"

"You're so naïve, Ed," Granny chuckles. My brow furrows and she says, "You really think two years of therapy can undo seven years of abuse?" I blink; I never thought about it that way before. Whenever our symptoms get bad and we fall into old habits, we always blame ourselves. We aren't working hard enough or we're bad or some shit like that. But Granny makes a good point, a point I've never thought of before. We were abused for seven years. It's probably going to take that long or maybe even longer to recover from it. 'Cause recovery's not linear; it's a scatter plot.

"I…." I trail off. I'm not really sure what to say. The bubbles are forming in my throat so I shake my head.

"I know, Ed," Granny says quietly. "I know." I nod. I'm glad she knows what I'm trying to say 'cause I sure as hell don't.

Last night was the roughest night we've had in a while. It's a good thing Granny okayed us to say home today 'cause we were up screaming every couple hours. I don't know why, really. I think that maybe it's 'cause we're really stressed and tired. I don't know. I don't have a good explanation, honestly. All I know is it sucked balls. Al's sleeping, curled up next to me like a worm. My eyes are itching and I'd like to take a nap but for some reason, I can't. Well, I know the reason. There's one thought on my mind that I can't get rid of. All I can think about is how lately, I've been taking a lot of my feelings out on Al. I've screamed at him, blamed him for stuff, and teased him about shit that's not his fault. Is this just my destiny? Am I doomed to grow up into an abuser? I shudder. God, I hope not. I hope that my symptoms are just ugly right now and that soon I'll stop. I roll over and stare at him. I hope he knows that I love him. I hope he knows that I don't blame him for stuff. I hope he knows those things. I really hope he does. Al stirs and rolls over, blinking until his eyes are open. He gasps 'cause I'm, like, right in his face and pushes me away.

"What the heck are you doing?" Al demands.

"Sorry," I say, sitting up. "I didn't mean to scare you." Al smiles.

"Well, that's okay," he tells me, sitting up.

"Hey, Al?" I say, guilt building up in my chest the way gas builds up in a soda some little kid shook. I'm threatening to explode.

"Yeah?" Al replies.

"Look, I, uh," I struggle, knowing that when I do explode, I'm gonna word vomit all over Al.  
"What's the matter?" Al asks worriedly.

"I'm sorry," I say, the word vomit beginning. "I've been treating you like shit lately and I don't know why! I mean, I don't wanna yell at you or take my feelings out on you, but I can't stop the words from coming out! I don't mean anything I say, honest! I'm sorry I was such a dick to you last night. I know it's not your fault that you're scared at night! I shouldn't be such a douche bag and I'm sorry! You mean the world to me! I should treat you like it and I'm sorry." Al blinks before a smile spreads across his face.

"It's okay, Brother," he tells me, patting my head. "I forgave you yesterday. It's okay."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yup," Al chirps. "I know you're sorry."

"Look, I'll try not to yell at you anymore, 'kay?" I say. "It's mean."

"It is mean," Al agrees, getting out of bed, "But trying's good enough for me."

"Oh, Al," I say, putting my leg on, "You should go pee before you go downstairs."

"Mmm, okay," Al hums, "But after that you should eat. You barely ate dinner last night, Ed. You have to eat to keep your body healthy." I grin at him. I like it when Al's functioning enough to take care of me. I like being taken care of. I stand up and put a sticker on Al's piece of paper. I stare at it before adding one to my row. I am gonna eat, after all. That's sticker-worthy.

Al pees and we go down stares together. We eat cereal before deciding what we're gonna do today. Al really just wants to take it easy and watch movies. I'm down for that 'cause I'm exhausted still. I ask him what kind of movies he wants to watch and he tells me Disney movies. Well, I know exactly what we'll watch. The Aristocats, The Jungle Book, Lilo and Stitch, and Frozen. Those are Al's four favorite Disney movies. Personally, I like Brother Bear a lot and Lilo and Stitch is one of my favorites. I also really like Treasure Planet mostly 'cause I see a lot of myself in Jim Hawkins. I'm not really sure what it is about him, though, that reminds me of myself. Well, maybe it's not that I see myself in him. Maybe it's that I see who I could be in him. Maybe I see a boy who's fearless and adventurous and who doesn't have bubbles in his throat. I see a boy that says what's on his mind and who never backs down from a challenge. Yeah. So, I want to be that boy. I wanna be the boy who isn't scared all the time. I wanna be the boy I could have been.

After we eat we go into the living room. Like I predicted, Al puts on Lilo and Stitch. I think that's mostly 'cause he knows The Aristocats gets on my nerves. It's cutesy for the sake of being cutesy. There's nothing really interesting about it. It's just cats being cute. But I think that's what Al likes about it. He likes watching the little kittens tumble around and be cute. I know not all movies need to challenge you or make you think but I just feel like that movie could have had a bit more to it. I also hate that movie 'cause that's all Al watched for the first three years of his life. That and The Jungle Book. I know all the words to the stupid elephant march song 'cause of him. At least Lilo and Stitch is a movie we both agree on. We like it 'cause it's about a little broken family learning how to be a family again. We like seeing the sisters' relationship change and we like seeing Lilo's relationship with Stitch grow. In a lot of ways, Al and I are like Nani and Lilo. I mean, not to that scale, but for seven years I had to take care of Al. And I still do in a lot of ways. We need each other, just like they need each other. We take care of each other. We understand each other. And we also know that you have to work for your relationships. We know that our family can't bond unless we work for it. So we like that movie a lot.

Lilo and Stitch ends and Al puts on Frozen. God, Frozen is such a guilty pleasure. I'm a sucker for the classic Disney formula. I like the musicals, I like the princess set-up, and I like the fairy tale. A win-win-win if you ask me. Frozen is super fun, though, 'cause the songs are so much fun to sing along to. Al and I suck at singing but we can't help but sing along to every song in the movie. And it's not just Frozen; we sing along to every Disney musical we watch. Everything from Cinderella to The Lion King. It's weird, but I've noticed that kids in my class don't really talk about Disney movies like they used to. Whenever we watch one in school, they all make fun of it. I don't get why they do that. It's harmless plus most of the Disney movies are really good. On top of top-notch animation and writing, Disney movies mean something. They stand for something. I think that's really cool but kids my age are "over it", whatever that means. I think they try too hard to be cool. Like, they just want people to like them and think they're cool. I guess I understand considering I want people to like me too, but it's different somehow. I want people to like me so I don't feel like a waste of space. I don't want them to like me so I feel cool or some shit like that. I have this feeling that if I never would have gotten abused, I wouldn't care if people liked me or not. I'd do what I do now; stick with a group people I enjoy the company of and that's it. I don't know.

"Brother?" Al asks halfway through the movie.

"What's up?" I reply in question.

"I wanna talk to Dada," Al tells me. "Can we call him?"

"Actually, I was gonna call him after school," I answer. "But since we didn't go we should call him now." Al nods and pauses the movie.

"I wanna finish that," he says with a laugh. "We didn't even get to the trolls."

"Fine, okay," I say. "But let's watch a different one next time, Ally. We watch Frozen so much that I have it memorized now."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Al laughs, standing. I stand too and we walk to Granny's home phone. Al picks it up and dials before putting it on speaker phone and setting it down.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Daddy!" Al cries happily.

"Alphonse," Dada muses over the line, "I was wondering when you were gonna call me."

"Sorry, Dada," Al apologizes, "But things have been crazy. I haven't been feeling like myself lately and Wyatt ran off last night and…yeah."

"Sounds eventful," Dada chuckles.

"Dada," I say, "How's London today?"

"Ed, you're there, too?" Dada asks.

"Yup," I say. "We took a mental health day. It was a rough night."

"I'm sorry to hear that, boys," Dad tells us. "And London's wonderful. I'm telling you that you'd both love it over here."  
"Is the weather nice?" Al asks.

"Well, it's cold and wet," Dada laughs. "But it's nice I suppose."

"Any details on the research you're in charge of?" I ask, forgetting Al doesn't know about that. His brow furrows and he asks,

"Research? What's going on?"

"Oh, Al," Dad sighs, "I'll be overseeing a research project at Oxford based on my paper. Before you get scared, Ally, it'll mostly be Skype calls. The project's only two months long and I'll only go over once. Nothing to be scared of, baby."

"So you got it worked out?" I ask.

"Yes," Dad answers. "The details got smoothed over this morning."

"That's good," I say. As much as I hate the idea of Dada leaving, I have to remember that he's a person. Research is his life blood. He should be able to do it without feeling guilty about it. It's just hard 'cause him leaving his still so terrifying for us.

"Dada," Al says, "Dada, can you come home? I wanna sleep in my bed."

"Al, honey, I can't come home," Dada tells him. "Just tough it out a bit longer, okay? I'll be home Monday."

"I miss you," Al says.

"I miss you, too, Ally," Dad replies. "But it's not that much longer."

"I know," Al mumbles.

"I'm sorry, boys, but I have to go," Dad says. "Call me tomorrow after therapy, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," I say, hoping I'm conveying just how disappointed I am.

"Daddy, when will you be home Monday?" Al asks desperately.

"Al, honey, it won't be until around dinner time," Dada tells him gently. "I'm sorry, buddy, but I have to work." Al's lip quivers but he says nothing. I swallow my bubbles and say,

"We'll meet you at the airport like always, Dada."

"I look forward to it, Ed," Dad says warmly on the other line. "I really have missed you. I can't wait to see my silly boys again." I smile, my whole body feeling like it's packed full of that warm sugar I can't get enough of.

"Love you, Dada," I say.

"I love you, Daddy," Al echoes.

"Love you, too," Dada says to both of us. He hangs up and Al whimpers.

"Hey," I say gently, "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Al argues. "When Dada goes away, we get bad. All our ugly symptoms show up when Dada's away. That's not fair to Granny or Winry."

"Yeah," I agree. "But it's not exactly a walk in the park for us, either." Al shrugs. He sighs loudly and slumps back over to the couch. I watch him as he sits cross-legged on the couch, Chico on his lap.

"That's not the point," Al says. My brow furrows curiously and I walk over.

"What is the point, then?" I ask, sitting next to him.

"First of all, you and I can handle each other when we get ugly," Al begins. "We've seen each other at our ugliest so when the anxiety and garbage is ugly we can handle it. Second, and this is most important I think, we've been in therapy for two years now. Whenever our symptoms get bad like this, I'm scared that everyone thinks that we're not getting better. I'm scared that no one can see how hard we're trying." I lower my eyes. Yeah, I get that. I get scared of that, too. I get so scared when we get ugly that no one thinks we're getting better. That no one thinks we're even trying. I don't know if it's true or not, but I'm scared that it is. I can't change how I feel.

"Well, Al," I sigh, "I don't know if people think that way but I'm scared that they do, too."

"You are?" Al asks.

"Hell, yeah," I say. "We work so hard and I just want people to be proud of me. I want them to see that I'm working toward getting better, even when my brain does shit I can't control."

"Me too," Al agrees softly. His hazel eyes drift over to me and a big smile spreads across his face.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm proud of you," Al says. I'm full of sugar again; all warm and my finger tips are tingly. But I'm not sure why Al would say that, especially now considering how gross my symptoms are.

"What?"

"I'm proud of you," Al repeats. "I don't think we say that enough to each other, Brother. We should start, I think."

"Oh," I say, stupidly. I've run out of words but Al knows that. He smiles at me and turns the movie back on. That snowman is singing about summer and Al laughs while trying to sing along. I shake my head at my brother's silliness. Thank God he can still be silly after all the shit he went through. Not that I really believe in God but still. It's just a phrase and I really am grateful that Al's still goofy even after everything. So thank the universe I guess.

"Winter's a good time to stay in and cuddle, but put me in summer and I'll be a…." Al sings and I wait for the perfect time to join in.

"HAPPY SNOWMAN!" We shout together, laughing loudly afterword.

When the movie's over the door opens. Al and I peek out from the couch and see it's Winry. We silently slip behind the couch while she groans loudly and throws her backpack. She's muttering about something and I can tell she's upset. I frown, wondering how we could cheer her up. I mean, she does so much for Al and me. The least we can do is try and cheer her up when she's down. Al's thinking when his eyes suddenly light up. He's got an idea. I lean in close so he can whisper in my ear and I grin. Perfect. Al hurries off to get what we need and I stand up. I follow Winry into the kitchen and see she's got a tub of ice cream on her lap. I shake my head and walk over, Winry glancing up at me.

"Hey," I greet, sitting down. "What's the matter?" Winry shrugs.

"Doesn't matter," she mumbles with a spoon in her mouth.

"'Course it does," I insist. Winry pulls the spoon out of her mouth and sighs.

"Does not, chemistry freak," she snaps, stabbing the ice cream with her spoon. "Leave it alone."

"No way, gear-head," I reply. She moves to put a big glob of ice cream in her mouth and I gently push her hand down.

"Ed," she warns dangerously.

"Look," I say, "It's okay to not wanna talk about shit. Believe me. But you can still let people try to make you feel better even if you won't tell them what's wrong." Winry looks down at her ice cream and sighs.

"I guess," she agrees softly. I smile and stand, holding a hand out for her.

"C'mon," I say, "Ally's putting something real special together for you." I pull Winry to her feet and she puts the ice cream back in the freezer.

"Like what?" Winry asks miserably. I guide her to the living room and she gasps. A gigantic fort has been constructed, Al's head popping up so he can grin broadly at us.

"Welcome home, Winry!" Al greets happily. He walks out from inside the fort and says, "We can tell you had a bad day. So let's watch movies in our fort! It'll make you feel better, I promise." I look at Winry, expecting a big smile to be on her face. Instead she shudders and starts crying. Al flinches and inches over and I shake my head.

"What are you crying for, Winry?" I ask, a hint of annoyance in my voice. She wipes her face, the tears still flowing and says,

"Even after everything you've been through you two care more about me than you do about yourselves," she cries softly. "You stayed home because you were having a day that I can't even imagine. It's selfish for me to come home in a nasty mood because school gets on my nerves. You two are so selfless." Al and I exchange glances. I don't know what she's talking about. It's not selfish to have a bad day. At least, I don't think it is. I don't know.

"Winry," Al says gently. "It's not a contest, you know. You're allowed to have bad days, too." Winry looks up at him and Al smiles at her. "Sure, our bad mental health days suck but that doesn't mean you can't complain a little."

"Al's right," I add. "It's okay, Win." Winry wipes her face.

"Let's hang out in the fort," she says. "It looks amazing, Al." Al smiles brightly.

"Thanks," he chirps, taking her hand. "I like to think I'm a pro at fort making." Winry laughs and I sigh happily. This is my safest place, I think. I have a few safe places, but this is the one that takes the cake. When I'm here, when I'm with Al and Winry, I'm safest. I'm loved. I'm wanted. We crawl into the fort and fight over a movie to watch. Only I don't really fight. I just say what I want to watch and let Al and Winry decide. Because I'm safe. I'm happy. And no matter what movie we pick, as long as I'm in my fort with the two people I love the most, I'll stay that way.


	27. Pancake Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't need IHOP to have pancakes.

I groan, sitting up as I desperately try to rub sleep from my eyes. Al and I have to go to school today. We have to. But all our sleepless nights are catching up to us and making us tired even though we slept okay last night. Like, I only had one bad dream that I can remember and Al's alarm didn't go off once. He just had a nightmare and when it was over curled up next to me. So it was a great night for us. But we're exhausted. I yawn and shake Al awake. He sits up and blinks, rubbing his eyes. I wish him a good morning as I strap my leg on. He groans at me and flops back down on his pillow. I decide I'll leave him there for a bit while I go shower. I quickly put a sticker in my row (it's more for Al than for me, I think) and go into the bathroom. I take a shower, the warm water running down my back. My hair sticks to the back of my neck and I grin. My hair's getting longer. It gets a little longer every day, I think. Not noticeably longer, of course, but still. By the summer I imagine it'll be long enough to put in a tiny ponytail. Not a long one, but it'll be neat I think. I shut the water off and hurry back into my room. Al's on his side and I bet he's asleep again. I suddenly realize that since Dada's not here, we won't go to IHOP. We won't sit in our booth and eat our pancakes. My hands are sweating. I swallow nervously and decide to focus on Al. He needs to get up.

"Ally," I say, shaking his shoulder, "Alphonse. C'mon, buddy. Wake up." Al groans and swats my hand away.

"No," he whines, rolling over. "School's not happening today."

"I wish," I scoff. Al groans again and sits up.

"I'm up," he declares with his eyes half open. "I'm up. Let's go to school." Al thrusts himself out of bed and grabs his backpack. I laugh at him and say,

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Al pauses and looks down. He turns back to me and starts laughing too. "What?" I ask.

"You're naked," Al laughs. I shake my head.

"No," I reply, confusion in my voice. Al laughs harder and nods.

"Yes, you are!" Al cackles. "You're in a towel!" I blink and glance down. Oh. I forgot to get dressed. My bad. Al chortles so more and I sneer at him.

"Ha, ha," I say, dropping the towel, "Very funny." I walk off and Al's still laughing at me.

"You were about to live that cliché 'went to school naked' dream!" Al laughs. "I'm sorry, Ed, but that's hysterical!" I shake my head and pull my shirt on over my head.

"Laugh it up, Al," I tell him. I toss him some clothes and say, "Get dressed you douche canoe."

"I am not a douche canoe," Al snorts. "I'm just looking out for you, Bro."

"Don't call me Bro," I tell him. Al just grins and shrugs before putting his shirt on.

"Whatever you say, Broski," Al replies.

"You're in a good mood," I comment. "What's up with that?"

"Not sure, Brosef," Al laughs. "Brohammad Ali. Brotato chip. Abroham Lincoln."

"Knock it off," I chuckle. "I have two nicknames; Ed and Brother."  
"Okay," Al says, picking his backpack off the floor, "But consider Broba Fett."

"Not on your life, Al," I tell him. "C'mon." Al nods and we walk out of the room. We inhale at the same time, Al's face lighting up.

"Pancakes!" Al cheers. He grabs my hand and we hurry down the stairs. I allow him to guide me, thinking about just how anxious I was getting 'cause we weren't going to IHOP. Someone, either Granny or Winry, knows us well enough to know we need pancakes on Mondays and Fridays. They care enough about us to prepare pancakes for us so we don't flip out. I wonder whose idea it was. Al practically runs through the house, skidding to a stop when we get to the kitchen. Winry looks up at us and smiles brightly.

"Morning, guys!" She chirps. "Granny was just about to come get you." Al lets go of my hand and hurries to Winry. He grabs both her hands, bounces a little, and says,

"You made pancakes! You made pancakes!" Winry laughs and shakes her head.

"Of course I did," Winry says like making pancakes is as natural as breathing. She ruffles Al's hair and says, "It's no IHOP but it'll do." Al smiles brightly and shakes his head as I walk over.

"It's better than IHOP, Win," he says, "I promise." Winry blushes and Al kisses her cheek before going to pour himself some milk.

"Hey," I say to her, "Thanks." Winry turns slightly so she can look at me. Her eyes are warm like always and I feel tingly. Al kissed her. Al kissed Winry. If Al can do it, maybe…maybe I can, too.

"No problem, Ed," Winry says warmly. "I know you guys like to stick to a schedule." I nod and briefly close my eyes. I lean in and can smell Winry's perfume. Flowery. It's nice. I can hear her breathing and it soothes my constant anxiety. I could kiss her. I could.

"What are you doing?" Winry asks and I shush her.

"Trying something," I tell her. My eyes are still shut, but I know the look she's giving me. That "what the hell, Ed" look. I get that look a lot. I take a step closer and purse my lips. Here we go. I'm gonna do it. I lean forward and plan on kissing her lips but at the last second I change course. I kiss her on the cheek, blush, and say, "Thank you." I can feel Winry tense up as I pull away and open my eyes. Her whole face is red and her mouth is a thin line.

"Oh," Winry breaths, cupping her face. I can hear Al snickering at the table as Winry says, "Uh, yeah. No…no problem, Ed. Anything for you." She hurries off and I sit down next to Al after getting some orange juice.

"You love her, you love her," Al sings, "You really, really love her!"

"Shut the hell up," I grumble. "It's not a big deal." I lift my cup to my face as Al nods.

"Yeah, it is," Al persists. "You know why?" I take a drink and shake my head.

"No," I say. Al smirks and says,

"She likes you." My heart stops for a minute before it speeds up to a pace I don't think is healthy.

"What?" I gasp.

"She likes you," Al repeats. "Like, likes you, likes you." Winry…likes me? How is that possible? Me, with all my weakness and my issues and my past. Me with the baggage of abuse. Me with anxiety, depression, and PTSD. Me who has panic attacks, holds my brother's hand in public, and wakes up screaming on a nightly basis. Me. She likes me.

"How?" I manage. Al chuckles and shakes his head.

"'Cause you're awesome," Al tells me. "But I know you don't believe me. That's okay. Just look at your list I made for you, Brother. I bet some of the reasons I love you are reasons Winry loves you, too." I blink and pull out the wrinkled piece of paper out of my pocket. That list always goes with me. It has traveled in my pocket since the day Al gave it to me. I reread it, my eyes wide with disbelief.

"You mean you think Winry thinks all this is true about me?" I ask.

"Of course," Al chirps happily. My heart is pounding. My chest is heaving. I'm anxious. Even though Winry liking me is good, I'm anxious about it. Al frowns at me and says, "It makes you really anxious, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," I pant.

"Ed," Al says softly, leaning over the table, "You're not gonna hurt her. You're a good person." A good person? How the hell can Al say that? I'm not a good person. I'm rotten. I'm disgusting. I'm a potential abuser. I yell at Al and bully him. I snap and Winry and Dada for caring about me. I'm a fuck up. A waste of space. A bad boy. I'm anything but a good person. How can Al say that? How can he? He's delusional. But I don't say anything. I can't. There are bubbles in my throat, closing it up so tight I can barely breathe. Winry comes back in and sits down, her eyes resting on her pancakes. I screwed up our relationship, I think. She won't even look at me. I glance up at her and sigh. She knows all my issues and most of my secrets. I guess that means she knows that I could become her abuser if she gets too close.

When breakfast is over Winry and I clear the table. She's looking at me now, making small talk about school and therapy and the weekend. I can't say anything. Al watches from the doorway, encouraging me silently to reply to her but I can't. There's nothing to say. I don't have words. The bubbles have trapped them and the most I can do is nod or shake my head. Winry must see me as a threat now. She has to. That's why she's acting so weird. That or she hates me now but is keeping up appearances for Al's sake. One or the other. Granny yells that it's time to leave so we hurry outside. We get in the car and I sit in the back with Al. Al looks worriedly at me a few times as he and Winry have a conversation. I don't even know what they're talking about. All I can think about is how I kissed her. How I pressed my lips against her face, uninvited, and ruined my relationship with her. God, I'm such an idiot. I know Al says that Winry likes me but I don't see it. I can't see it. How could anyone besides Al love me? Al's seen me at my worst. Al took care of me when no one else would. So of course Al loves me. But for anyone else to, for anyone else to dare to get close to me, is terrifying. It's insane. And it'll never, ever happen.

We get to school and everyone but me says goodbye to Granny. Ling and Rose see us out front and greet us cheerfully but I don't even acknowledge them. I listen to whatever shit they're talking about for a minute before I tear myself away from the group. I can't deal with this right now. All I can think about is how I screwed everything up with Winry. I fucked up and it makes me anxious. I walk down the hallway, staring at my shoes, as someone calls my name. I pause and turn around, Al panting a few feet behind me. I stop walking and my brother hurries over, concern on his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask him out of habit. His brow furrows and he shakes his head.

"Brother, is something the matter?" He asks me. "You seem really anxious today and I'm worried." I scoff at him.

"Oh, I'm just fucking swell, Al," I snort. "I just, you know, kissed Winry without her permission and fucked everything up. No big deal, right?" Al blinks and a look of sympathy washes over his face. I hate sympathetic looks. I really, really do.

"Edward," he sighs sadly, "Winry was just surprised, that's all. You didn't mess anything up, promise." I can't bring myself to believe him. Not when my brain is telling me he's lying. And I know he's not but…. Fuck. I hate my brain. I hate it so much. It makes liars out of the few people I trust. It's not fair.

"Yeah, right," I huff.

"Brother," Al says gently, grabbing my hand, "If you're that worried about it, apologize to her. Tell her you didn't mean to make her uncomfortable or something. I promise she's not angry but it might make you feel better if you hear it from her."

"What the hell do you know?!" I snap, yanking my hand away. Al flinches and I say, "You're so stupid! Apologizing won't do shit! Leave me alone!" Al blinks at me, his chin quivering. I glare at him and as I turn to leave I hear him say,

"Why are you so mean?"

My heart stalls and I look up at him. He's not crying (yet) but he's got this look in his eyes that tells me all I need to know. He's hurt. I hurt him. And I've been hurting him. I shake my head and lick my lips, unable to say anything. That is, I can't say anything until my lips move and I spit,

"Whatever." I stomp away from him, unable to decide how I feel about it. Am I being mean because I am mean? Am I an abuser who's trapped inside this tiny body? I don't know. I glance back and see that Al's gone. Shit. I was gonna go apologize if he was still there. Why am I so mean? I don't know. I really don't. I make it to my class and slam my stuff down. God, I'm angry. But I'm not angry at Al or even Winry. I'm angry at myself.

"Ed!" My head shoots up at the sound of my name. I look to the door and there's Winry. She's heaving, her eyebrows pointed downward angrily. I grimace – I have a pretty good idea why she's pissed at me. I stand up and walk out of the room, the kids all watching. I pull Winry to the side and wait for her to explode.

"What the hell is your problem, Edward!?" She yells. "You can't just yell at Al and expect me to sit by and let you torment him! You know better! What's wrong with you!?"  
"I don't know!" I yell back. "I don't know, okay?!"

"You can't take your feelings out on Al!" Winry tells me loudly.

"What the hell do you know?!" I demand angrily. "You don't even have any siblings! What would you know about treating them right?!"

"I know that if you keep yelling at Al and treating him like shit there may not be an Al to do that to anymore!" Winry starts crying and I blink. What? How does she know he's in the low place? We haven't told anyone that. Not even Granny.

"What are you talkin' about, Winry?" I scoff.  
"You know damn well what I'm talking about!" Winry cries. "He's suicidal! You think I don't notice?!" I swallow nervously and she goes on, "I see the signs, Ed! He's acting like you did last year! You wanted to kill yourself and so does he!"

"He does not!" I argue. "He just wishes he was dead! There's a difference!"

"Well, how the hell do people get suicidal, then?!" Winry demands. "It's not like those horrible thoughts just pop into people's heads one day!"

"What would you know about that?!" I cry angrily. "I swear, you think you know everything, don't you!? You don't! You don't know anything about me or Al so just stay out of it!"

"I would know if you'd just tell me!" Winry yells.

"Forget it!" I cry.

"Fine!" Winry retorts, crossing her arms. "You're such an idiot, Ed. I don't even know why I bother!"

"Don't call me names!" I yell. "Don't!"

"Then don't call your brother stupid!" Winry demands.

"You're not the boss of me!" I yell. I'm acting like a little kid but I honestly don't give a shit. Winry can't tell me what to do.

"You're right," she says softly. She's still crying, tears running down her face and saturating her shirt collar. "You're right. But if you're not gonna take care of Al, someone has to."

"I do take care of Al," I say quickly, trying to defend myself.

"Then why are you so mean to him all of a sudden?" Winry asks softly. I shake my head, my chin quivering. I'm about to break down. I know I am. I've had all these feelings building up inside of me for weeks and I'm about to lose it. I'm about to lose it. I shake my head again, a few tears rolling down my face.

"I don't know," I say softly, backing up and hitting the wall. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me, Winry." I slide down the wall and my chest constricts. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I look up and Winry's gone. I hear someone sliding down the wall next to me and I know it's Winry. It has to be. No one else would. Well, Al would but he's not here so it has to be Winry.

"I'm sorry," she exhales softly. I don't look over at her. "I'll help you breathe, okay?" I nod and Winry coaches me gently. She helps me breathe in, helps me breathe out. Slowly I calm down and I know I'm gonna have to talk to her about Al. The thing is, though, I really don't know why I've been such a dick to him lately. I really don't. All I know is I'm angry and scared and I don't wanna be an abuser. But the way things have been going lately, I'm terrified that I am one.

"Ed," Winry says quietly, "Please talk to me. Tell me what's going on. You don't have to tell me everything, but I wanna help you." I lick my lips and swallow, forcing some of the bubbles to pop.

"Winry, I…. Well, I…." I take a deep breath and say, "I'm sorry about this morning." Winry's brow furrows.

"What about this morning?" She asks. I blink; Al was right? The kiss didn't freak her out? She's not angry with me? Shit. Oh, shit. I really messed up. Not with Winry like I feared, but with Al. Shit!

"The, uh, kiss I gave you," I stumble.

"Oh, that," Winry sighs. "That was fine, Ed. It was actually…." Winry trails off as blush crawls across her face. She looks down and goes on, "It was nice." I blink again. Damn it. I've got to find Al. I stand suddenly and Winry stares up at me. "What are you doing?"

"I have to find Al," I say. Winry stands up and grabs my hand.

"Ed, Al's in class," Winry tells me. "That's where we should be, too. We'll see him at lunch." I shake my head.

"It can't wait, Win," I protest. "I was a real dick to him and I need to tell him I'm sorry."

"You were a dick," Winry confirms. "You made him cry." I grimace.

"I did?" I ask guiltily.

"Oh, yeah," Winry says. "Big fat tears." I look away and Winry asks, "Is something going on between you two?" I shake my head.

"No," I say miserably. I feel so bad. My chest is tight but not because I'm anxious. It's because I'm so guilty my body's reacting to it. "I don't know what's wrong with me." And before I can stop, the word vomit starts, "I've just been getting angrier and angrier lately. I don't know why. I yell at Dada and Al all the time because they annoy me more and more. I'm so scared, Winry, that I'm an abuser! That I'm no better than she is! And when I make Al cry, I know it's true! I am an abuser! I'm just going to hurt everyone I care about because I'm an abusive dickhead, just like her!" Winry looks sadly at me and sighs.

"I don't think you're an abusive dickhead, Ed," Winry tells me quietly. "I think it's just what Al says all the time; you just have a lot of feelings." I shrug.

"I guess," I reply.

"Look, Ed, if you're scared talk to Mr. Hughes about it," Winry tells me. "Tell him that you don't want to take your feelings out on the people you love. He'll teach you to control it just like he's teaching you and Al to control your other feelings. You're going to be okay, Ed." I shrug again. How can she say that? She doesn't know that for sure. For all she knows, I really am an abuser. But her words are gentle and they're soft and they help me to calm down a bit. Winry gently pulls on my arm and gets me to walk back to class with her. At lunch, I know I'll have to apologize to Al. I just hope he'll hear me out.

The bell rings and I hurry out of my seat. Winry told me she'd save me a seat at lunch but I don't really care about that. There's one thing on my mind right now and that's Al. I have to find him. Hopefully he'll meet me by my locker like always. If he doesn't, well, I know where he likes to hide. I can find him no problem. Getting him to listen to me will be the hard part. I really hurt him this morning. I didn't mean to, but I did. He may not want to listen to me but I have to try. He matters the most to me and I won't allow myself to push him away. I walk to my locker and lean back on it. Kids pass by me in the hallway, chattering loudly about shit I don't care about. There's apparently some big party going on this weekend. I don't know. I think Ling mentioned it Wednesday. He said that some football guys were going to bring a keg out to Lake Liore and throw a massive party. I don't get why they'd do that. It's December so the lake's gonna be cold as hell even with a bonfire. Whatever. I look around and the crowd's slowing down. There's no sign of Al and I sigh. Guess I gotta go find him. I start walking toward his class and I hope he's not too mad at me. I mean, I'd be mad if I were him but luckily I'm not. Al is way more forgiving and gentle than I could ever be. He forgives me way more than he should, probably.

I walk down the stairs, the hallway practically empty. Some teachers are lounging around and they nod at me as I walk by. I make it to Al's class and it's empty except his teacher. I walk inside and she smiles at me. It's Ms. Day. English? I think so. I walk to the desk and say,

"Where's Al?"

"Oh, he left when the bell rang," Ms. Day explains, standing. Her brow furrows and she asks, "Something wrong?"

"Well I," I begin, not sure what to say. I don't really want to tell her I was a dick to him this morning but I don't know what else to say. So I guess I'll just be vague or something. I don't know. "I always eat with him and he meets me by my locker every day but never showed. I thought maybe he was still here."

"I'm sorry, Edward," Ms. Day says. "He left right on time. Have you checked Al's locker?"

"Not yet," I reply. "Thanks." I start to walk away when Ms. Day says,

"Ed?"

"What?" I say.

"Al seemed off today," Ms. Day tells me. "I was worried about him." I grimace; that would be my fault.

"Sorry," I apologize. "I was really mean to him this morning and didn't get a chance to tell him sorry."

"I don't think that's what had him so rattled," Ms. Day says. I quickly turn on my heel.

"What?" I ask.

"I think he's being bullied," Ms. Day says sadly. "I don't know that for sure, but it looks like it. He looked more scared than anything earlier so I don't think it was your fault he was so shaken." I grit my teeth.

"I have to go find him," I manage to say through a clenched jaw. I don't wait for Ms. Day to say anything back. I hurry out of the room and decide to go look by Al's locker. He has a locker on the second floor so I hurry up the stairs. I pause at the top and listen. I can faintly hear someone talking really heatedly to someone else so I creep over. I peer around the corner and gasp. Some douche bag is talking to Al and it's getting really loud. I guess this kid must be one of the douches bullying him. I still don't know why he's getting bullied in the first place, but I might finally learn. I slowly walk forward, watching the scene unfold before me.

"I'll ask you again, Elric," the kid says menacingly, my little brother backing up against the wall, "Where's my homework?"

"I-I t-t-told you a-already," Al stutters nervously. "I-I d-d-didn't d-do it." I grit my teeth and start walking faster.

"Hmm," the kid hums, lunging at Al. Al yelps and ducks, the kid's fist slamming against the wall. "Seems like you fucked up. 'Member what I told ya would happen if you didn't?" Al nods and the kid reaches for Al again. Al ducks and gets out of the way, his legs shaking violently.

"L-Leave me a-alone," Al says, holding his hands up in a defensive position. I stop, wondering if Al can really fight this kid off. I mean, I know he can. He's really good at martial arts. Actually, Al's better than I am. But he's usually too gentle to raise his fist to anyone. But I wonder if he'll do it now. His feet slide into a defensive position, his tremor getting worse as the kid stares at him.

"What are you gonna do, cry?" The kid teases. "Throw up? Piss yourself? Cry for big brother to save you? Huh? C'mon, Elric. Make my fucking day." I continue to wait, even though I more pissed off than a bull during a bull fight. No one talks to Al that way. No one. But I wanna see what Al'll do. Is he gonna finally stand up for himself? Or is he gonna start crying? I don't know, but I won't intervene until I know Al needs me to. Al shakes his head and I can see his lip trembling. C'mon, Ally. You can do it. Stand up for yourself. Don't cry.

"I won't cry," Al says softly. The kid makes a fist and time slows down. I watch as the kid's fist slowly moves towards Al's face, my heart pounding wildly. For a second, it seems like Al won't do anything. I start to sprint over when time catches up with me. Al grabs the kid's arm and in a fluid motion flips him over. The kid cries out in surprise and I skid to a stop. Al stands over the kid, heaving, and says, "Do your own homework, douche bag."

"Al!" I cry proudly. The kid hurries to his feet and darts off, Al looking over at me. He slumps over and stares at the ground.

"What do you want?" He questions softly. I hurry over and grab his arms.

"Al, that was awesome!" I cry, Al's brow furrowing. "You were so brave! You showed that piece of shit that you won't take any shit from him! I'm so proud of you!"

"No, you aren't," Al replies.

"What do you mean?" I ask. Al's lip trembles and he wipes his eyes.

"You hate me," Al says miserably. "I know you do. Why are you even here?"

"Dude, I don't hate you," I say defensively. Al stares at me and I sigh. "Look, Ally, I'm sorry about this morning. You were right about all that Winry stuff and I'm sorry I was such a dick to you. I'm gonna talk to Dr. Hughes about learning to not take my feelings out on you. But I don't hate you, Al. I really don't." Al blinks at me before a weak smile spreads across his face.

"You're really proud of me?" He asks.

"Hell, yeah!" I cry. "You didn't even hit him! You defended yourself without actually hurting him! You didn't start crying or puke or anything! You did so good, Al!" Al smiles brighter.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I guess I did."

"You hungry?" I ask. Al nods and I say, "Good 'cause I'm starved." Al chuckles and we start walking toward the cafeteria. I glance over at him and sigh. I still feel so guilty about what happened this morning. I know I shouldn't tease him or yell at him and shit like that but I do it anyway. And I feel awful. Al looks over at me when I sigh and I apologize again with my eyes. I try to tell him how sorry I really am and just how much he means to me. I try to tell him that I mean it when I say that I'm gonna try not to take my shitty feelings out on him anymore and that I am proud of him. Al smiles again and nods. I exhale; he forgives me. I know he does. 'Cause Al is always forgiving, even when he probably shouldn't be.

At lunch I brag about Al so all our friends know what he did. They all praise him, Al blushing and smiling the whole time. I ask him if kids have been bullying him into doing their work for them all year and Al says yeah. Al doesn't want to help them cheat, though, so they bully him. Now I finally know what's been going on at school. So now if I see these kids giving Al a hard time, I know why and can do something about it. And maybe Al can do something, too. Maybe we really are slowly teaching Al to be more independent. Maybe despite all the shit we're going through right now, we really are getting better. I think that maybe we are. I know things are rough now, but seeing Al stand up for himself makes me think that maybe things'll get better. I don't know. Al laughs lightly, Ling raving about how we really should test to see what belt we are and I smile. Yeah. Life's pretty shitty right now. But if my baby brother can be strong and stand up for himself even when he's scared, I have this feeling that the shit really won't last forever. It can't.

After school we wait for Granny to pick us up. I can remember school for once which is nice. I think I remember it 'cause my normal routine was broken. I went looking for Al and saw something that cemented in my brain. Since that stayed with me, the rest of the school day did too. It's still boring as hell but at least I can remember it. Granny pulls up and we get in the car. She tells us that Dada wants us to call him after therapy which is fine by me. I really miss him. I know he has to travel sometimes for work but I still miss him. I know Al does, too. We make small talk all the way to the office and Granny drops us off. She and Winry are going to go to the garage for a bit while we're in therapy. She promises to be back in an hour and we walk inside. The secretary smiles at us and we sit down. Like every time we're here, the kids all flock over, Carter climbing up in Al's lap. Al talks all gentle to him while I roll around on the floor with the kids. They all laugh as I wrestle them, their parents looking gratefully at us. They like it when we play with their kids. Expels all that kid energy that parents get sick of.

"Ed, Al." I look up and grin. Dr. Hughes is waiting for us and I push the pile of kids off of me.

"Hey, Dr. Hughes," I greet as the kids all fight for my attention. Carter slips off Al's lap and Al stands. He smiles happily at Dr. Hughes and takes my hand.

"You ready, boys?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Yup," I chirp. Dr. Hughes motions back to his office with his head and we head back together. We sit down and I suddenly feel anxious. I know what I have to talk about today. I have to tell Dr. Hughes that I've been a real jackass lately and that I want to stop. I have to tell him that I'm still scared I'm an abuser. But how do I even do that? Do I just come right out and say it? Probably. Yeah, that's exactly what I'll do. I'll look him straight in the eye and say, "I've been a real jackass to Al and I'm scared that I'm an abuser." That should work. Dr. Hughes looks at us and I swallow nervously. What if…. What if he agrees with me? What if he says, "Yeah, Ed, you are an abuser. You abuse your brother and you're no better than she was." Oh, God, I couldn't handle that. I can feel puke rise up in my throat and I try to swallow it as Dr. Hughes asks,  
"Anything in particular you boys want to talk about?" Al looks over at me and I nod. But I'm gonna barf if I try to talk. What do I do? Al asks me with his eyes what's wrong and I can't answer him. "Ed?" Dr. Hughes asks, obviously picking up on my distress, "Is something wrong?" I nod again and I know I have to try talking. I just hope I don't puke everywhere.

"I…." I try to talk but lurch forward. Oh, God, here it comes. I gag and soon I'm violently throwing up. It goes everywhere; it lands in my lap, splatters on the table between us, and soaks into the floor. I cough, Al and Dr. Hughes watching me worriedly as I puke.

"Brother," Al says anxiously. "Brother, are you okay?" I shake my head, tears pricking in my eyes.

"Ed, are you sick?" Dr. Hughes asks me. "Want me to call Pinako?" I shake my head again and I start panting.

"I…. I'm an abuser." Dr. Hughes blinks at me and Al whimpers as I say, "I abuse Al. I yell at him and call him names." I blink rapidly, tears falling down my face. My throat is tight and I know I'm gonna start bawling. "I don't wanna abuse him! I don't! But I am and I'm no better than her!" They both stare at me, Al's lip trembling as I start crying loudly. I apologize over and over again, Al staring at me.

"I…." Al breathes. "That's not true." Dr. Hughes sits back in his chair and sighs. Al shakes his head and takes my hand. "It's not true!" Al echoes loudly. "You're nothing like her, Brother! Why would you say that?"

"Because I've been an ass to you lately!" I cry. "I've yelled at you and teased you and called you names! You're already getting picked on by some douche bags at school and I shouldn't add to that! But I am! I am because I'm no better than she is! I'm so sorry, Al! I'm so sorry!"

"Edward," Dr. Hughes addresses softly. "There's a big difference between you and an abuser. Do you know what that is?" I shake my head, choking as I cry harder. Dr. Hughes simply smiles at me and says, "You recognize that you've been mean to Al and apologized. Abusers rarely apologize, Ed, and when they do it's because they gain something out of it. What do you gain from apologizing to Al, Ed?"

"N-Nothing," I hiccup, still crying loudly.

"That's right," Dr. Hughes says. "You're apologizing because you genuinely feel bad about the way you've treated Al." I look away, still crying. Snot is running down my face and I think I might barf again.

"Brother," Al says gently. "I know you're sorry. It's okay, really. You're not an abuser, Brother. You take care of me."

"Ed, sometimes siblings are cruel to one another," Dr. Hughes tells me. "It's just the way it is. Siblings get on your nerves and sometimes we take our feelings out on our siblings when we shouldn't. That's what happens when we live with anyone. It's normal to yell at and tease your brother a little. That doesn't make you an abuser, Ed."

"I-It d-doesn't?" I ask pathetically, trying to stop the tears. I'm not doing a very good job, though. No matter what I do, they keep falling. But I haven't had a break down in a while so I guess that's why my tears won't stop. I'm due for a huge break down, I guess.

"Of course not," Dr. Hughes says. "I yell at Gracia sometimes when I shouldn't. Does that make me an abuser?" I shake my head. "So yelling at Al when you shouldn't doesn't make you an abuser either."

"I'm scared that I'll be one," I say, my voice barely audible. "I'm so scared that one day I'll snap and abuse everyone around me."

"It's not healthy to live in fear like that, Ed," Dr. Hughes tells me gently. "I know you're scared, but you can't live your life afraid of something that probably won't happen. It's like being afraid of your house getting broken into. It probably won't happen and being terrified of it happening interferes with how you live your life. Eventually you shut yourself up and push everyone away and that's not healthy. You can't do that to yourself, Ed." I swallow. I really don't think it's anything like being scared of a break in. 'Cause yeah – it's rare that houses are broken into. But what isn't rare is abused children abusing their spouses and children. That happens so frequently. So many people who were abused as kids grow up to abuse their own families. That's not rare. That's down right common. The analogy doesn't work.

"I love you, Brother," Al says. I glance over at him and he smiles at me – that gentle smile Al's always had that makes me feel safe. "I know you're just stressed and that you have a lot of feelings right now. I know that you love me and would never hurt me on purpose. So, it's okay. I forgive you." My lip quivers and I throw myself on to my brother. He ignores the nasty puke that's all over me and wraps his arms around me. I start sobbing loudly and Al just rubs my back. He rubs my back and talks gently to me to get me to calm down. Al forgives me. But, he always does. Al forgives me way more than he should, I think.

"It's going to be okay, Ed," Dr. Hughes says. "I promise that it'll all be okay. I think you're just stressed right now and that's why you're so angry." I nod. Yeah, I am stressed but that's no excuse for me to be shitty to anyone, especially Al.

"I am," I manage to say. "But I shouldn't be mean to Al 'cause I'm stressed."

"That's true," Dr. Hughes agrees. "So why don't we come up with somethings you can do when you're angry so you don't take your feelings out on Al."

"Okay," I say, pulling away from Al. "I could try saying my list. That gets me to calm down when I'm anxious. It might get me to calm down when I'm angry, too."

"Good idea," Dr. Hughes praises. "You could also try counting to ten before you say something. That gives you time to decide if what you're going to say is nice or not."

"You could also color in a coloring book, Brother," Al suggests. I frown, realizing that Al doesn't get angry with me very often. Actually, Al doesn't get mad at anyone very often. I wonder how he does it.

"Al, what do you do when you're angry?" I ask. "How do you deal with it so you're not a dick to the people you love?" Al blinks at me and then he shrugs.

"Oh, I don't really know," he replies. "I don't get mad very much. I just cry mostly."

"But when you are, what do you do?" I press.

"Mmm," Al hums in thought. "Well, I like to be by myself when I'm angry. Sometimes I talk to my stuffed animals or Picard when I'm mad 'cause they can handle mean words. They don't have feelings to get hurt. Well, Picard does, but he understands me so he knows when I say mean things to him that I don't mean anything by it. I also rip paper up or read or something to get my mind off it."

"And that works for you?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yup," Al replies with a smile.

"I could try ripping up paper," I say. "D'you think that'd work for me, Dr. Hughes?"

"Sure," Dr. Hughes replies. "I also think talking to your pillow or a stuffed animal or toy you have lying around would help too. It's always good to get your feelings out and talking through feelings is always a good way to do that."

"Okay," I say. "I'm gonna try some of those things. I don't wanna be mean to Al."

"I know you don't," Dr. Hughes says. "I know Al knows that, too." Al grins at me and I grin back.

"You're too nice, Al," I inform him. "You know that, right?" Al laughs lightly and shrugs.

"I don't know about that," he says. "I don't think there's such a thing as 'too nice', Brother." I shake my head – typical Al. There is such a thing as being too nice. Being too nice is when you let people walk all over you. Being too nice is when you want to please everyone and people just boss you around 'cause they can. Being too nice is being a push over and that's no fun at all. But I think I see where Al's coming from. People need to be nice to each other. People need to forgive each other and see past their differences. People need to be patient and kind and they need to listen. All of those things are part of being nice and I guess you can never be too much of those things. Not really, anyway. There's just ways to misuse those things and usually it's shitty people who misuse those nice traits in people. Al has all those traits. Al is forgiving and patient and kind and listens really well. And he gets pushed around because of it. But he won't get pushed around by me – not anymore. I'm going to think before I speak. I'm going to take my anger out on something, not someone. I'm going to be patient and kind. I'm going to be more like Al.

"Wanna go clean up?" Dr. Hughes asks. I blush and nod.

"Uh, yeah," I say. "Sorry about that." Dr. Hughes smiles at me.

"Don't worry about it," he tells me. "Happens more than you'd think."

"Still," I say, standing, "It's freaking nasty."

"No, it's just a little messy," Dr. Hughes replies. "The nice thing about messes is, Ed, they can always be cleaned up. Sometimes it takes a little work, but you can always clean it up." I nod. I guess that's true. Most messy things can be cleaned up. I mean, there's condemned houses and shit, but even those can be saved on some level with a little work. People don't realize how much work actually goes into cleaning up messes sometimes. I'm just lucky to have people that care enough to help me clean it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Surprise! I'm updating today because it's my birthday! I thought it'd be a fun way to celebrate :) I also wanted to share something with you guys. My sister and I had this friend in Florida who not only was a Fullmetal fan, but was literally the real-life Alphonse Elric. This boy had a history of abuse and hardship but through it all he carried on, never gave up, and cared more about everyone else than he did himself. Anyway, our friend died two weeks ago and unfortunately my financial situation isn't great. I can't afford to go to Florida for his memorial service. I don't usually ask people for things like this, but if you guys feel compelled to, could you pray/send good thoughts/good vibes for me or even check out our Go Fund Me account (www.gofundme.com/2hc5szw)? There's no pressure to donate, don't worry! Just sharing it around the internet or praying would be a big help! Anyway, enjoy your surprise chapter and I'll see you guys on Saturday!


	28. Going Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a big fan of fishing myself, but the Elric brothers really seem to enjoy it.

I don't know why, but Dr. Hughes' words really affected me differently than they usually do. Maybe it's the subject matter. I don't know. All I know is I feel different. I think it's a good different. I think it's good 'cause I'm being more conscious of how I talk. When I'm frustrated with someone or something, I count to ten before I say anything. That way I don't snap at somebody who doesn't deserve to be snapped at. After therapy on Friday, Al and I called Dada and I told him all about what Dr. Hughes told me. I told him how I'm learning to control my feelings better and he said the words I love more than anything; he told me he's proud of me. Al talked Dad's ear off after that. He talked about school and Picard and pretty much anything that popped into his brain, I think. We've both missed Dada so much and haven't been super good about calling him while he's been away. So Al just talked and talked and talked because it was the first time we called him when he wasn't busy.

The rest of the weekend went better than the week itself had. The sticker chart, while completely childish and embarrassing, actually did help me to remind Al to take care of himself better which in turn allowed him to take care of me. So our symptoms got a little better which made life easier for everyone. I know it worries Granny and Winry when we get bad like that. Worries Dada, too. So when we take better care of ourselves, everyone feels better. Now it's Sunday night and Al and me have both showered already. We're getting ready for bed and all I can think about is how Dada is coming home tomorrow. I know he'll be jetlagged tomorrow but I plan on talking his ear off. I know Al will, too. Actually, Al will probably cling to Dada hard core for a couple of days like he did when he was little. I remember that whenever Dad would come back after going away, Al would cry whenever Dada forced him to go to school or when Dada wouldn't let him hang on him all the time. I don't know if Al will cry if Dad won't let him do those things now, but I do know that Al will probably try to cling to Dad like he used to. People don't ever really change. I mean, they do, but not fundamentally. Our personalities do get shaped by lots of different things, but the fundamental elements of who we are never really change. Like, Al has always been a talkative, gentle, kind, and cuddly person. While the abuse did make Al kinda shy, he still can talk for hours if someone will let him. He's still gentle, he's still kind, and he's still cuddly. So while he's changed, he's also the same at the same time. That's why you can't put people into boxes, I think. They're too complicated for that.

Al reads for a while before deciding he needs to go to bed. It is getting kind of late and I'm actually kinda tired. So I tell him that I'll go with him and Al seems really happy. We wish Winry and Granny goodnight and walk up to our room together. We talk briefly with our eyes about Dad. Al is really excited to see Dada tomorrow and I tell him I am, too. Picard follows us into our room and we get into our own beds. Even though we feel safest when we sleep together, Dada and Dr. Hughes say that we should try sleeping on our own more often. I think it's 'cause they want us to be able to sleep on our own when we're grown-ups. I don't know. But when we're thinking about it, we do try to listen to them. I mean, we'll probably end up in the same bed tonight (we usually do) but Dada always praises us when we sleep in our own beds. I lay in bed and cringe. God, I'm such a baby. I literally do things just so Dada can tell me I'm a good boy. I like to hear that I was good, that I made him proud, and that's literally the only reason I do thinks like try sleeping on my own. What is wrong with me? How much longer will it take for me to be normal? I roll over and see Al's staring at the ceiling, Picard lying on his chest. I sit up, Al glancing over at me. His brow furrows and he asks,

"Something wrong, Brother?" I swallow and shrug.

"Yeah," I say, though I'm not sure that's true or not. "I was just thinking."

"About what?" Al asks.

"Doesn't matter," I tell him, kinda embarrassed about it. "Just stupid stuff."

"Mmm, 'kay," Al says with a yawn.

"Al, you went pee, right?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yup," he answers tiredly. "Got it done when I brushed my teeth." I blink, deciding to see what Al does when I praise him. I know how happy it makes him, but I kinda want to see what his face does. I wanna see if it means as much to him as it does to me.

"Good boy," I praise, waiting. Al blinks at me before a huge smile spreads across his face. His eyes get squinty, but in a good way, as they shine with a shit ton of good emotions. Yeah, I think he feels the way I do about getting praised. He probably does some things just so somebody can say "good boy" or "good job" to him. Damn. We really are like little kids, aren't we? Little kids are like that. They're people pleasers. They like helping so that their parents will be proud of them and say nice things. I glance down and I can feel Al's eyes on me. Why are we so much like little kids? Is it that regression shit that Dr. Hughes talks about? Maybe. I mean, the abuse started when we were little kids. Maybe we act that way because when we were little, we were safe. I don't know.

"Brother?" Al asks worriedly. "Are you okay?" I shrug.

"I guess," I mutter. "I just hate being such a baby all the time."

"What are you talking about?" Al questions. I glance up at him and he says, "You're not a baby."

"Yeah," I scoff, "Okay."  
"I mean it," Al insists.

"Then why do I act and feel like I'm six sometimes?" I ask. Al glances down and I say, "Really wish I wouldn't."

"I don't know," Al says softly. "I don't think it's bad, though."

"What?" I ask.

"Well, I mean it's kinda annoying sometimes, but I don't think it's bad," Al clarifies. "It's just the way we are. That's not bad."

"But don't you wish you acted more fourteen than like a little kid?" I ask.

"Not really," Al tells me. "I don't really care, honestly. It might be dumb or unhealthy or something but I feel safe when I act little. I wanna feel safe so I don't mind acting like a little kid sometimes. I don't wanna be a baby and I don't wanna be that way forever, but right now it's how I feel safe."

"Oh," I breathe. So Al doesn't care that he acts like a little kid. He doesn't care that he's clingy and dependent and likes to get praised by people. Well, I know that he does care about being clingy. I know because he's told me and Dr. Hughes lots of times that he feels guilty about being so clingy. I also know that he's terrified that we all view him as some big dumb baby and isn't opposed to doing things on his own. So he's both at the same time. I know how that is. I'm constantly feeling lots of things about the same issue and I can never decide how I really feel about it. I can never tell someone straight about how I feel about somethings 'cause I feel lots of things about it. And even though I do care about being so strange, I do agree with Al on one thing; I do feel safe when I'm acting like a little kid.

"You think that's dumb, huh?" Al says, pulling me out of my thoughts. I smile at him and shake my head.

"Nah," I reply. "I get it. You feel lots of things about the same thing. It's okay." Al grins back and yawns. "Okay, buddy," I say, "Go to sleep."

"Is your leg off?" Al asks quietly.

"No," I answer.

"Can you tuck me in?" Al asks with a strained voice.

"Sure, Ally," I say, getting out of bed. "Don't cry, I'll tuck you in. Hold on." I hurry over to Al's bed and start tucking him in, Al's lip quivering. My brow furrows and I say, "Hey, it's okay. Don't cry. It's okay."

"I miss Dada," Al whimpers.

"I know," I reply. "I miss him too." Al whimpers again and I sit down on his bed. "It's okay. He'll be home tomorrow."

"Yeah," Al says quietly.

"You gonna be okay?" I ask. Al doesn't do anything so I stand up. I walk to my bed, grab Lamby and my blanket, and walk back over to his bed. "Scoot over," I instruct. Al nods and he scoots over, leaving plenty of room for me. I know we should sleep alone but I don't want Al to stay up crying all night. So I crawl into bed next to him and instantly Al wraps his arms around me. He's really upset, I guess. I pet his hair, Al whimpering into my chest.

"She's coming, Brother," Al whimpers. "I c-can be g-good."

"Shh," I whisper. "No, she's not. You're safe. It's okay." He whimpers again and I ask, "What's gotten into you?"

"Uh," Al says, his voice strained, "M-My an-anxiety's s-super bad f-for some r-reason." I frown, wondering if there's a way I can calm him down. I rack my brain and for some reason, all I can think of is Mom. When we were little and we were scared, Mom would curl up next to us in bed and sing until we fell asleep. Now, I'm no good at singing, but I don't know if it was the singing that made me feel safe. I think it was Mom's voice and her scent and everything about her. When she was that close to me, I had no choice but to feel safe. Al was the same way. So, which song did Al always request? Oh, that's right. I remember.

"Here comes the sun," I sing softly, Al glancing up at me, "Here comes the sun and I say; it's alright." Al grins at me and I smile back.

"Little darling," he joins in, "It's been a long, cold, lonely winter. Little darling, it's been so long since it's been here. Here comes the sun, do, do, do, do. Here comes the sun and I say; it's alright." Al's voice slowly fades out as he goes to sleep and my voice slowly morphs into Mom's in my head.

"Little darling," Mom would sing, petting my hair. I'd look up at her and she'd kiss my forehead so I wouldn't be scared anymore. "Little darling, the smile's returning to their faces. Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun, do, do, do, do. Here comes the sun and I say; it's alright." Al shifts beside me and I kiss his hair. Mom sure was smart. When I have kids, I hope I'm half as smart as she was. That way I'll always know how to make my kids feel safe when they're scared.

In the morning Al and I wake up to the smell of pancakes. Winry made them for us again and I can't thank her enough. While last night wasn't awful by our standards (I had a nightmare, Al had a night terror and ended up wetting the bed later), Al's anxiety is terrible today. I know he misses Dada and the anticipation of seeing him is making him anxious. I think part of that is that when we were kids, we were both terrified that when Dada got back from a trip that he wouldn't like us anymore. That everything she told him, all her lies she had cooked up for him to hear, that he'd start hating us. I think part of Al is scared that when we see Dada at the airport he'll decide he hates us when he hears how bad our mental health was when he was gone. I pick at my pancakes and sigh. Maybe he will. I don't know. I glance over at Al and see he's not eating. So I silently get his attention and tell him with my eyes that he needs to try and eat. He nods at me and tries again but quickly gives up.

"You feeling okay?" Winry asks, setting her glass down. Al shrugs.

"I guess," he replies softly. "It's just…. I don't know. I have a lot of feelings about Dada coming home."

"Aren't they all good feelings?" Winry asks. Of course she would think that. She doesn't understand. But how could she when we've never told her? We've never told her anything.

"No," Al says simply. He sets his fork down, his face resting in his hand. "When we were kids, we were always terrified that when Dad got home from a trip, he'd hate us." Winry's brow furrows and Al adds, "She lied about us, you know."

"Yeah," Winry says quietly. "I know."

"It's just hard for those sort of feelings to go away," Al goes on, "Especially when you felt them for seven years." Winry blinks before a sad smile spreads across her face.

"You know," she says, picking her fork up, "I think I know how you feel. At least a little."

"What are you talkin' about, Winry?" I scoff.

"Well, when I was super little, my parents were army doctors," she beings, taking a bite. "Whenever they'd come home from being away, I always was sad and a little scared 'cause I knew that soon they'd have to go away again." Winry's eyes get sad and she looks at her food. "I also knew that one day might be the last time they'd ever go away 'cause they could die over there." Winry's lip quivers and she tucks her hair behind her ear.

"I'm sorry," Al apologizes. "I didn't mean to make you sad. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Winry says with a strained voice. "I wanted you to know that you weren't alone, Al. At least, not because of those feelings. 'Cause I get it – I really do."

"Please don't cry," Al begs. "I can't handle it when people cry." Winry shakes her head and laughs lightly. She wipes her eyes with her hand and says,

"I won't," she replies. "I won't cry. I promise."

"Hey, Win?" I say.

"What's up?" She replies in question.

"Thanks," I tell her softly. "It means a lot to me that you said all that." Winry shakes her head again.

"Dummy," she teases lightly. I grin weakly and turn to Al. He's smiling too, a bit of pancake on his fork.

Like most days, my morning classes fly by before I can register they happened. I'm really getting sick of not remembering school, but I don't know what I can do to help myself remember it. Well, maybe not being stressed out of my mind would help. I don't know. The bell rings and Winry and I walk to my locker. We wait for Al and wave when we see him. He hurries over, a grin on his face, and we meet up with Ling and Rose before walking to the cafeteria. We jump through the hoops of normal Monday conversation with them. They ask about our weekend; we ask about theirs. They ask what's going on this week and we ask them the same thing. The usual Monday small talk. I hate small talk, but I put up with it for them. They're my friends. Besides, small talk is a pretty effective way to get information across quickly even if it is boring as hell. We get our food and sit down, laughing at something funny Ling said. We eat for a while before Al stands suddenly. Everyone looks up at him as he stares blankly at the door. My brow furrows and I ask,

"Al? What's the matter?" He doesn't answer me. Instead he hurries away from the table and runs toward the door. I follow him and watch as he runs into someone's arms. I stand, one word leaving my lips as I watch Al hug someone tighter than I've seen him hug a person in a while; "Dad?" Dad looks over Al's head and smiles at me. Everyone watches as I leave the table behind to greet Dada.

"I missed you so much, Dada," Al says as I get close.

"Hey, kiddo," Dad says warmly. I blink before a lump forms in my throat. Dada must sense tears because he says, "It's okay, Ed. Dada's here now." I nod, my lip quivering. Dad smiles at me and pulls me into a hug. Al scoots over so we can both hug him.

"I missed you," I tell him, pulling him in tighter.

"I know, baby," he whispers. He kisses my forehead and pulls away before saying, "I know."

"Dad, I thought you wouldn't be home until way later," Al says.

"Well," Dada replies. "I thought it would be nice to surprise you." We grin and Dada says, "What would you boys say to ditching school and going fishing? It's been so long since we've gone." Al nods eagerly.

"Yeah!" He cries happily. "Yeah! Let's go!" Dada chuckles and shakes his head.

"Okay, okay," he laughs. "I'll sign you both out while you go get your things. I'll meet you here, okay?"

"Okay!" Al cries, hurrying off. Our lunch table watches him go, confusion on everyone's face. I walk over and they all stare at me.

"Dad's taking us to go fishing," I explain.

"Okay, but why?" Ling asks.

"Oh," I say, remembering that they don't know that Dad travels. "My dad travels for work and he's been in London for a week. Guess he missed us a lot. I don't know." I feel like I just lied to them because I totally did. I do know why Dada's taking us fishing. He's taking us 'cause he knows how much we've missed him this past week. I just can't tell them that without telling them a bunch of other shit I don't want them to know right now.

"Well, have fun, 'kay?" Winry says with a grin. I kinda feel bad that Winry's not going. When I was little, Mom and Dad would take Al and me fishing with Granny and Winry. It was kind of a thing. We'd go to Lake Liore for hours and fish. I remember one time Al caught a huge one on his tiny little fishing pole. Winry encouraged him the whole time as he struggled to reel it in. But Dad didn't invite her so she can't go. I smile back at her and say,

"You bet."

"Bye, Ed," the table says in unison. I wave and hurry to my locker. Al's already there, bouncing eagerly on his toes. I shake my head at him and grab my stuff. We hurry back to the cafeteria and meet Dada. He says we're good to go so we leave, none of us able to stop smiling the whole way to the lake.

Lake Liore is the only interesting place in Resembool. I mean, I know it's just a lake, but there's really not much else in town. We don't even have a Walmart. All we have is a pizza joint, a movie theater with just two screens, and Lake Liore. So as you can imagine, there's always a ton of people at the lake. Well, on weekends, anyway. During the week, there's a lot less people. When we were little, Dada would take us fishing on weekdays in the middle of the day. We'd find an isolated spot and stay until dinner. We'd eat lunch by the lake, Al throwing bread on to the lake hoping to attract some fish. I don't know if his strategy actually worked or if he just got lucky a lot. Anways, we haven't gone fishing together in a long time. I'm talking like ten years long. We used to go all the time with Mom and Winry's family but once Mom and Winry's parents died, we stopped going. I think Dada took me and Al a few times before the abuse started, but he never took us during it. She wouldn't let us. Besides, we were always in trouble for one reason or another so fishing was definitely out of the question.

We finally get to the lake, Dada finding a place near the water to park. Guess he was planning this on his way back from London 'cause the car was already full of everything we needed. There's a cooler full of sandwiches and water, folding chairs, and our fishing poles. We got new ones two years ago when she got arrested 'cause Dad wanted to take us fishing. He never did, though, 'cause he thought it would stress us out too bad. Whatever. Al and me help Dad unload the car and set up the spot we're going to fish at. When Winry and Granny would come with us, we'd take Uncle Urey's boat out on the lake and make a whole big day of it. I remember when we were kids, we'd spend entire weekends on the lake. Al and I would stay in the water for hours, Mom saying that we'd grow gills if we stayed in much longer. Of course that made Al and I want to stay in the water a lot longer to see if it was true. Well, it wasn't, but I always kinda wished it was. Breathing underwater seems so cool. Anyway, we get real close to the edge of the lake and start eating. I can tell Dada's exhausted but he's smiling and chatting with us. He tells us stories about London and all the people he met and all the places he saw. He says his favorite thing he saw was Buckingham Palace. There's a lot of old paintings and jewelry and shit there. He took a tour and took lots of pictures so he could show us. He just keeps talking and talking and I can feel that dull roar of anxiety quiet inside of me. Dada's voice is soft and steady and gentle and it calms my permanently frayed nerves.

We finish eating and start fishing. Like when he was little, Al picks up a lone sandwich left over from lunch and picks the crust off it. He tosses it into the lake, Dada chuckling at him as he throws pieces of bread into the lake. Whenever we go fishing, we don't keep the fish or anything like that. Mama was a good cook and everything, but she didn't like handling raw fish and Dad's never been good at cooking. So we always just toss the fish back into the lake 'cause we're not gonna keep 'em. Sometimes Granny will take the best looking fish or two home with her and she'd cook them but we don't always have the best luck when we fish. But we don't fish 'cause we're good at it. We fish 'cause it's relaxing and we like it. Dada leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes while Al creeps closer to the water. Al's got a wad of bread in one hand and his pole in the other, his hazel eyes scanning the surface of the water looking for a sign of life.

"Fish," Al whispers softly, crouching down. "I've got some food for you if you want it." He tears a piece of bread off the chunk in his hand and tosses it on to the lake. I shake my head at him as he watches the water eagerly, leaning closer and closer to the water.

"Careful," I warn, "If you lean in any more, you'll fall in." Al turns to face me, a smile on his face. He shrugs and says,

"Wouldn't be the worst thing."

"It's freezing," I laugh. "You'd regret it if you actually fell in." Al chuckles lightly before shushing me.

"Quiet, Brother," he says, "I'm looking for fish." I smile fondly at him and look over at Dad. His eyes are shut and I guess he's asleep. Poor Dada's probably beat. He really should have gone home and slept instead of taking us fishing. But he didn't. I kinda feel guilty about that. Dad sacrifices so much for Al and me. He sacrifices his career, his free time, and his own well-being for us. It's not fair, really. I don't know how he puts up with it, honestly.

"Dada," I say. He stirs slightly and turns over toward me. He smiles as he opens his eyes and he asks,  
"What's up, buddy?"

"I'm sorry," I apologize softly. Dad sits up, his brow furrowed.

"For what?" Dada asks.

"For taking up so much of your time," I say, my voice strained. "You give up so much for us. You have since Mom died. I can't believe how exhausting that is and I'm sorry." Dad blinks before he looks warmly at me.

"Oh, Ed," he sighs. "You are such a good hearted boy. I'm your father, Edward. I'm supposed to give up things for my children."

"But you're so tired all the time!" I argue. "You're always so tired but you never complain or get angry or anything! You sacrifice so much for us and I feel so guilty about it!"

"Ed," Dad tries as I start crying. "Ed, it's okay."

"No, it's not!" I cry. "We're not worth your time, Dada! We're worthless! We're fuck ups! We're wastes of space! We're bad boys! H-How can y-you do all th-that? W-We aren't w-w-worth it!" Dada stands, Al watching from the bank, and walks over to me. Silently Dada pulls my face into his chest and just lets me cry into him. He pets my hair and all I can do is cry like a baby. God, I'm such a baby. I'm really not worth Dada's time. I'm really not.

"It's okay," Dad whispers. "You're so worth it, Ed. You're so, so worth it." I shake my head, but can't find any words to reply with. They've all dried up in the back of my throat where all my words go when the bubbles force them away. Dada cradles me close and I drop my pole. I wrap my arms around him, trying to absorb Dad's love for me just through touch so that maybe I can finally believe his words.

"Dada!" Al cries. Dad glances backward and chuckles loudly.

"Ed, Al's got a bite," Dada tells me. I sniffle loudly and wipe my face as Dad pulls away. Al's slowly backing away from the water, his line bending into a deep curve as the fish fights him.

"It's big, I think," Al informs us, grunting as he tries to reel it in.

"Plant your feet, Al," Dada instructs. "Spread your legs apart and hold your ground." Al nods, a look of determination on his face.

"Don't forget to work with the fish a little," I remind him with a strained voice. "If you fight him the whole time, you won't reel him in."

"Right," Al says, his knuckles turning white as he does what Dad told him to do. He plants his feet in the soft ground, his legs far apart as he struggles to reel the fish in. His knees bend as the fish pulls the line, Al yelping as he almost loses his balance. He looks back at us and says, "I think I'm gonna lose this one."

"No," I say, standing up. "You can do it, Al. Try loosening the line before reeling in again." Al nods at me and does what I told him to. Dad watches as Al slowly reels the fish in and Al's really straining. It really must be a big fish.

"Almost," Al grunts, pulling his pole toward his body. "C'mon, fish!" The line snaps but doesn't break and Al falls backward onto his butt. He drops the pole but hurries to grab it. He continues reeling it in, the fish dragging up on to the bank of the lake. It flops around, Al just watching it as it struggles.

"You did it, Al!" I cry. I hurry over and examine the fish. It's a huge largemouth bass; the poor fish's gills going crazy as it fights for air.

"Hurry and pick it up, honey," Dada tells Al. "I want to get a picture to show Pinako before we toss him back." Al seems to have come back to earth and he nods. He hurries to his feet and grabs the line, holding the fish up in the air. "Smile, Ally!" A toothy smile spreads across my brother's face and I grin. I may not be worth Dad's time, but that goofy little kid is. Al is worth Dad's time. He always has been. Maybe someday I will be, too.

"That'll turn out great, sweetie," Dad says tiredly, pocketing his phone. He walks over and says, "Let me help you get him free. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Al nods and I watch as Dada unhooks the fish from the line and tosses him back in the lake. Dad then checks his watch and turns to us.

"We should get going so you two can get to therapy," Dada says.

"Yeah, okay," I reply. We start packing up and I stare at the lake. Al puts the chairs and poles in the trunk of the car and Dad walks over to me.

"You okay, buddy?" Dada asks, probably referring to my break down earlier. I nod, my eyes locked on the water.

"Yeah," I say. I turn to Dada and grin cheekily before saying, "We should go fishing more often. I forgot how pretty lake is." Dad smiles warmly at me and nods.

"It is pretty," Dad agrees. "Very relaxing, don't you think?"

"Yeah," I say. Dad ruffles my hair.

"We'll definitely try to get out here more often," Dada tells me. "I think it'll do you some good."

"Did you mean it when you said I'm worth your time?" I ask softly. The corners of Dad's eyes crinkle and he puts his arm around my waist. He guides me to the car and asks,

"Have I ever lied to you?" I shake my head.

"No," I answer.

"Then I meant what I said," Dad tells me. "You and Al are not a waste of my time, honey. I love you boys so very much. You're both my whole world and these last two years I've done my best to convince you that's it's true. Hopefully someday soon, you'll see it." I smile weakly and look back at the lake. Yeah. Maybe someday, I will.


	29. The Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not being able to sleep at night really affects your mood, don't you think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up - graphic violence is in the very beginning of this. Just as a warning.

I walk down the stairs, Al behind me. I yawn, rubbing my eyes as my feet slide across the stairs. I reach the bottom of the stairs and blink. The lights are all off. My brow furrows and I fumble around in the dark to find the light switch. My hands slide across the walls, Al following silently behind me. I finally find it and flip it up. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust and when they do, I'm really confused. In the middle of the room is a bunch of newspapers, a collar, and a bunch of baby stuff. Weird. I shake my head and walk into the kitchen. Dad's not in here so I try calling for him. There's no response so I don't think he's home. I search for a note explaining what's going on and where Dad is but can't find one. Maybe we're babysitting. But we don't know any babies. And what's up with the collar? The door opens and Al tugs on my sleeve silently. I guess that Dada's home now so I walk out of the kitchen to greet Dad and freeze in the hallway. Al hides behind me as I start shaking.

"Hello, boys." I shake my head, unable to believe what I'm seeing. She's standing in the hallway, a smile on her face. I don't know how she's here. She should be in prison. I get defensive, trying to protect Al from her.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, my voice shaking.

"They let me out," she tells me. "They realized that you're both bad boys and that I needed to get out to punish you."

"Where's Dada?" I ask, feeling the vomit rising up in me.

"Out," she says simply. She walks passed us and bends over. She picks up the collar and turns to face us. "Wanna play house, boys?" My heart starts beating wildly, sweat running down my neck and saturating my shirt. The chain. She's going to use the chain.

"G-Get out of o-our house," I stutter. "I'll c-call the p-police."

"No, you won't," she replies, walking over. She stops in front of me and says, "Dogs don't walk on two feet, do they, Ed?" Tears of shame prick in my eyes as I shake my head.

"No," I say softly, my voice strained. I get down on my hands and knees, Al shaking behind me. She squats down in front of me and puts the collar on around my neck.

"Good boy," she sneers. "Go sit on that newspaper while I deal with your brother." I nod and crawl over. "Do you want to be the baby again, Ally?"

"No," Al answers. "I d-don't w-wanna play t-this game. I d-don't like it." Her face twists angrily and she shoves him down.

"Al!" I cry as she rounds on me.

"Hush, dog, or I'll muzzle you," she threatens. I watch as she grabs Al's hair, Al crying out in pain. The beating starts, Al begging for her to stop or for someone to come save him. I watch for a few minutes but soon I decide I can't take it anymore. We're not little kids anymore. We don't have to take this. We can defend ourselves. I stand up on two legs and run over. I tackle her and we wrestle for a minute before she grabs the collar around my neck. I gag, Al sitting up and watching as she starts to drag me outside.

"No!" I cry, trying to get away. "Please! I'll play the game! I'll be the dog! I'll even use the newspaper! I'm sorry! I'll be good!"

"It's too late for that, you bad boy," she tells me, opening the sliding glass door. She throws me down the stars and I roll painfully down them. Multiple little bleeding wounds open up all over my body as Al hurries after us.

"Brother!" He cries. She turns to him, a scary smile on her face.

"You're next, Ally," she says, grabbing the collar again.

"Not the chain!" I scream, trying harder to get away. "Not the chain! I can be good! I'll be the dog! I'll be the dog! Not the chain!" She throws me down and hooks the dog chain to the collar. I start crying, awaiting the beating I'm about to get. I wish Dada would get home so he could prevent what's about to happen. But he doesn't. She hurls the chain at me, the metal making contact with my skin. I scream, the chain opening up my skin and dragging across my body. I throw up, the beating speeding up. She whips me harder and harder, Al screaming for her to stop.

"You're a rotten, good for nothing, piece of shit!" She yells at me. I nod. I know I am. I know that's true. My body shudders as she hits me again and I can feel my bladder give out. Of course it did. It always does when she uses the chain on me.

"Vanessa?"

I look up and start crying tears of joy. Dada's here! Dada's gonna save me! Al tugs frantically on Dad's shirt.

"Dada! Look!" He cries. "Look at what she's doing to Ed! Make her stop!" Dad's brow furrows and he walks over to us. She holds the chain in her hands, a smile on her face.

"What's going on here, Vanessa?" Dada asks.

"We're just playing house, Vic," she replies cheerfully. "Ed always likes to be the dog." Dad stays still for a moment and I pray that he's realizing that she's lying. But my heart stops as he smiles and shakes his head. Dada kneels down and pets my hair.

"Have fun with Nessie, Ed," Dada says. "You always have so much fun playing with her." I swallow, my heart beating funny as I struggle to breathe. I shake my head, Al staring in horror at us.

"N-No, Daddy," I beg, "Don't go. Don't leave me with her!" Dada just smiles at me and stands up.

"You boys play nice, okay?" He says like I didn't say anything. "Ed, don't bully Al too badly, okay?"

"No!" I scream, Dada walking away. "Dada, don't leave me! I don't wanna play with her! She's hurting me!" But Dada doesn't come back. He just keeps walking, leaving me and Al alone with her. Once Dada's out of sight, she squats down in front of me and grabs my face with her fingers.

"I told you he never loved you."

I sit up in bed, screaming loudly. Al flinches beside me and rolls out of bed, my bedwetting alarm going absolutely crazy. I stop screaming as the tears start running down my face. I dream about the chain a lot. That dog chain in our backyard was removed after she got arrested because just looking at it triggered me. But I see it all the time in my dreams. I get hit with it all the time in my dreams. I get chained to it all the time in my dreams. At that thought, I start sobbing. God, I'm so messed up. I can't even sleep at night. And because I can't sleep at night, no one in my house can sleep at night. The alarm's off now and I'm still sobbing. I'm so disgusting. I'm so pathetic. I'm so not worth anyone's time. I feel the bed shift and I glance my eyes over. Al's sitting by my bed, his face all gentle. I can't stop crying, hiccupping as Al gently pulls my face into his chest. He rubs my back and I cry into him. My shaking hands grab his clothing and my crying gets louder. I can't contain myself. I'm shaking and sobbing and I can't contain myself. I think what messed me up the most about the dream was how Dada abandoned me and Al. Everything I've been afraid of since I was six happened in that dream. Dada walked in on her beating me and he just let it happen. He walked away without even a glance backward and that's why I can't bring myself to stop crying. That's why I can't contain myself. He abandoned me.

"Shh," Al whispers gently. "It's okay. You're okay. You're okay. You're okay." Al just repeats that over and over and I still can't calm down. I can't breathe. Oh, God, I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I start wheezing, choking and coughing as I'm still sobbing but can't get a breath as I cry. Al starts rocking back and forth, doing everything he can to calm me down.

"Breathe with me, Brother," Al instructs gently. "Feel my chest move, Ed. Listen to my heart beating. Breathe with me." I try, but I can't seem to get the rhythm right. I know that if I can't calm down, I'm gonna throw up and pass out. I shut my eyes, tears mixing with snot and spit, and try to focus on Al's breathing. I try to match his breathing pattern as he starts singing;

"You and me together we'll be," he sings gently. "Forever, you'll see. We two can be good company, you and me. Yes, together we two. Together, that's you. Forever with me. We'll always be good company, you and me. Yes, together we'll be." As he sings, I finally get the rhythm right. I'm finally breathing. I'm not done crying, though. I'm still heaving as I cry, unable to get the tears to stop.

"Are you two okay?" Dada whispers from the door. I can feel Al shake his head.

"Brother can't stop crying, Dada," Al says. I hear Dada walk over and I can feel him pet my hair.

"It's okay, baby," Dada coos in my ear. "Dada's here now, Ed. Dada's got you." My lip trembles and I shake my head.

"Y-You left m-me!" I wail. "Y-You s-s-saw her h-hitting me a-and j-just left!"

"Oh, honey, that would never happen," Dad whispers. "That would never happen. I would never just leave if I saw someone hurting my baby."

"It was just a scary dream, Brother," Al says softly. "It's over now. That scary stuff's gone and you're safe."

"Al's right, sweetheart," Dada adds. "It was a dream, baby. It was just a dream. It's over now. You're safe, Edward. You're safe." I snivel pathetically and nod my head. My heart is finally beating normally. I guess that I'm safe. She's not here. She can't hurt me. Dada and Al wouldn't let me.

"I wet the bed," I say pitifully. "I'm sorry I'm so disgusting, Dada. I'm so sorry." Dada kisses my hair and sighs sadly.

"Oh, Ed," he sighs. "Oh, Edward. You're not disgusting. This isn't your fault, baby. It's not your fault. You're not disgusting. You're not. You're not."

"Dad, I'm covered in my own sweat and piss," I argue miserably. "That's pretty disgusting."

"Well, I suppose," Dad agrees quietly, "But it's the stuff you're covered in that's gross, Ed. You aren't gross."

"I don't see a difference," I inform him. "There really isn't one."

"I know you don't see one," Dada tells me, "But there is. I promise that you aren't disgusting."

"Dada?" I ask like a little kid, "Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Of course you can," Dad replies. "Wanna sleep with me too, Al?" Al nods.

"Yeah," he yawns.

"Then go get cleaned up," Dada instructs. "I'll take care of this."

"I can do it," I insist.

"Edward," Dada sighs, "Let me do it for you. I want to do it for you. The only thing I want you to do is put some dry clothes on."

"But I'm the one who peed in bed!" I argue. "I should clean it up!"

"You didn't do it on purpose," Dad says. I look pointedly at him and he sighs. "Look, Ed, I know you feel bad but this isn't like when you accidently spill something. I know how ashamed you are that this happens at all. I want to take the burden of cleaning it up for you. Understand?" I lower my head. No, I don't understand. I can't understand. Why would he want to take the burden of cleaning my own nasty mess away from me? I frown in thought, Dada kissing my hair. Maybe…. Maybe Dada does it for me for the same reasons I clean up after Al. Maybe he does because he wants to. Maybe he does it because he…. Because he loves me.

"Okay," I finally say. "I'll get dressed."

"Good boy," Dad praises gently. "Good boy." I nod and put my leg on. I stand up and dry my face with my arm. Al hurries over and takes my hand. I can feel the constant tremor raging my brother's body and I gently rub his hand with my thumb. We go to the dresser and pick out dry pajamas while Dada strips my bed. Al guides me to the bathroom and I stare at the floor as we go.

"What was it?" Al asks softly.

"The…. The chain."

"Oh," Al sighs. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I say. "It's over now."

"I'm sorry, Brother," Al says again, his voice strained. I glance up at him and I can tell he's fighting tears.

"What's wrong?" I ask worriedly.

"It's just…. She only hit you with the chain. That's not fair, Ed. You got it so much worse than I did and it's really not fair." Al blinks rapidly and starts crying. "I'm so sorry, Brother. I'm so sorry. I was so weak and helpless and you suffered for it. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, knock it off," I tell him. "I took it because I wanted to. You're my little brother and it's my job to protect you." Al keeps crying and I wrap my arms around him. He starts sobbing and I rub his back.

"I-I'm s-so sorry!" Al sobs. "I'm s-s-so s-sorry!"

"It's okay," I say, not sure what else I can do. "Please stop crying. It's okay." That doesn't seem to work. Al just starts crying harder. The floor behind me creaks and I glance back. Dada's coming out of our room with a bundle of blankets and his brow furrows.

"Is he okay?" Dad asks worriedly. I shake my head.

"Al can't stop crying," I tell him. Dad walks over and I go on, "He feels guilty tonight." Dad sighs sadly and pulls us both into a hug. Al cries even harder and Dad holds us close.

"Hush, Al," he whispers. "There's no reason to feel guilty."

"Y-Yes th-there is!" Al wails loudly. "Sh-She n-never hit m-me w-with th-the ch-ch-chain! She on-only hit Br-Bro-Brother with it! I-I w-was s-so c-clingy and h-helpless an-and he g-g-got hurt 'cause of m-me!"

"Alphonse, baby," Dada coos softly, "It wasn't your fault. It wasn't. You can't blame yourself, sweetheart. You can't."

"Dad's right, Al," I add. "It's not your fault, Al. It's my job to keep you safe. You didn't get hit with th-the… the chain 'cause I wouldn't let her. I never let her. I never let her hit you if I could help it. So don't blame yourself. I'm so happy you don't have the scars on your back I do from that damn chain."

"I wish you didn't have those scars, either, Ed," Dad says sadly. I hug him tighter and nod.

"I know, Dada," I whisper. "I know."

"I'm sorry, boys," Dad says quietly. "I'm so sorry." Al's slowly calming down now, Dad petting his back gently. He's still shaking, though. But that's not unusual for him. He's basically always shaking so I'm not too worried about it.

"Get dressed and try going pee, boys," Dada whispers, kissing us both. "I'll meet you in my room, okay?" I nod.

"Okay," I reply, Dad walking off. I turn to Al who's yawning loudly. I tug on his hand and say, "C'mon, Ally. Let's get dry."

"Mmm, yeah," Al yawns. We walk to the bathroom and when we get there Al asks, "Are you okay now, Brother?"

"Pretty much, yeah," I answer. "The chain always freaks me out but I'm okay now. Sleeping with you and Dad will make me feel safe. You?"

"I'm okay," Al says with a weak smile. "I'll feel safe, too, with you and Dada. I always do." I grin back and slip into the bathroom. I peel off my soaked clothes, throw them in the chute, and try to pee. When I'm finished I get dressed and glance at myself in the mirror. My throat gets all tight, tears pricking in my eyes as I stare at myself.

"I'm a bad boy," I whisper before opening the door and slipping out. Al goes in after me and I sit down in the hallway. I bring my knees to my chest and burry my face into them. Before I can stop I'm crying again. God, why am I such a baby? Why is all I can do is cry? I don't wanna cry any more. I really don't. I'm so sick of breaking down and crying like a baby all the time. I really am.

"Ed?"

I look up and see Dada standing in front of me. I quickly wipe my face and stand. Dad looks worriedly at me as I stare awkwardly at him.

"Honey, are you okay?" Dad asks worriedly. I shrug.

"Yeah," I mumble. "I'm just really getting sick of freaking breaking down all the time. I thought this was supposed to get better 'cause I'm in therapy. Sure as hell feels like I'm in the same place I was two years ago." Dada gives me that sympathetic look I hate and sighs.

"Edward, it's just a bad night," Dad tells me. "You and Al have been really stressed recently and that's why you're so unstable right now. When life goes back to normal, you'll feel better again, I promise."  
"Okay, but when will I be able to handle it when my routine breaks?" I ask pathetically. "When will I be able to handle you leaving without becoming a zombie who can't even remember to shower unless he has a freaking sticker chart?"

"Ed, I don't know," Dad tells me. "I don't. But what I do know is that you're not in the same place you were two years ago. You've improved so much, sweetie." I look at him miserably.

"You mean it?" I snivel, wiping my face again.

"Have I ever lied to you?" Dada asks me. I grin weakly and shake my head.

"No," I answer. Dad walks over to me and pulls me into his side. He kisses my cheek, his beard tickling my face. I laugh lightly and Dada tickles my sides. I laugh and push him away, Al exiting the bathroom.

"That's my boy," Dada says as he tickles me. Al giggles and watches, a smile on his face.

"Daddy," Al says, grabbing his free arm. "I'm sleepy. Let's go to bed now."

"Sounds like a plan, Ally," Dad says, allowing Al to pull on his arm. We get to Dad's room after grabbing Chico and Lamby from our room and get into bed. Al sighs contently as he curls up next to Dada and I hide further under Dad's covers.

"Dada?" Al asks sleepily.

"What, Al?"

"Can we go fishing on Saturday with Granny and Winry?" Al asks.

"I'll ask Pinako if she's free," Dad answers. "If they aren't, we can go just the three of us. How does that sound, Al?" Al nods tiredly.

"That'd be good," Al yawns.

"Would that be good?" Dada asks, kissing his forehead. Al nods again.

"Yeah," Al says, practically asleep now.

"Sweet dreams, Al," Dad says softly, brushing hair out of his face.

"Dad," I say, Dad glancing over at me. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for, Ed," Dada replies.

"You have work tomorrow and I've kept you up so long," I point out.

"It's okay, Edward," Dad assures me. "Please don't apologize again, honey. There's nothing you have to be sorry for." I disagree, so I keep my mouth shut. There's plenty to be sorry for. Waking Dada up 'cause I'm screaming bloody murder is one thing to be sorry for. Pissing in my bed when I'm almost sixteen is something to be sorry for. Acting like a big fucking baby is something to be sorry for. Keeping Dad up to ungodly hours every night is something to be sorry for. But I don't want to keep Dad up any longer by arguing with him so I keep my mouth shut. Dada smiles at me – that smile that makes the skin by his eyes wrinkle and I smile back. He kisses my forehead and says,

"Sweet dreams, Ed," he whispers. "I love you so much, kiddo." I yawn and close my eyes.

"Love you, too, Dada," I reply, drifting off to sleep.

Last night was terrible. Now, I didn't have another nightmare but that one wore me out so much. I was so shaken up by it that I don't think I got more than, like, four hours of sleep total last night. Normally, I wouldn't be too upset about that 'cause I could take a nap after school. But today's Wednesday. It's group day. And I can't skip group day. Not 'cause I'm tired, anyways. If I was sick, well, I'd consider it but I'm not so I can't. I promised myself (and more importantly, Al) that I was gonna tell our story. I can't wuss out 'cause I'm a little sleepy. I can't do that – not to Al. He deserves better than that. So I'll sit through school and tell my story even though I'm exhausted and cranky and really don't want to. I pick at my cereal, Dada and Al talking quietly about something. I don't really know. I'm not listening. I really can't listen right now. My mind's someplace else. My mind is where my story is. That deep dark place in my heart where all the horrors that I went through live. That's where my mind is right now. It's there 'cause I'm telling my story today. The summer Dada got married to her, she created the game that she liked to play the most and that's all I can think about.

"Ed?"

I blink, my family staring at me. I glare at them and demand, "What?"

"Al was just telling me about how he might have to tell part of the story today," Dad says.

"Huh?" I ask, dumbstruck.

"Well," Al begins nervously, "It's just if you're gonna talk about what I think you're gonna talk about, then there's something that I need to talk about."

"What do you think I'm gonna talk about?" I scoff, crossing my arms. Al visibly swallows nervously and shrugs.

"Y-You kn-know," he stammers. "That one game. You kn-know the o-one." I blink and lower my gaze to my lap.

"Yeah," I say softly.

"What game?" Dad asks, his voice wavering. I look up at him, my heart beating funny. Dada's never asked about the abuse. Ever. It's just something we don't talk about. I can't believe he'd ask that. I open my mouth to answer, but the words get caught somewhere. The bubbles push them up against my throat and I can't tell him. I can't reply.

"Well, um," Al tries, his whole frame shaking. "I-I…. It was…."

"We don't talk about it," I say sharply, shoving my spoon into my cereal. They both look at me and I say, "If you wanna know so bad, sit in on group while I'm telling the story."

"Why can't you tell me?" Dada asks like his feelings got hurt. I glare at him and shove my bowl away. It crashes to the floor and I stand.

"Because it's all your damn fault!" I yell loudly. "We don't tell you 'cause you don't give a fuck! You never have! We suffered 'cause you've never cared about us!" I hurry out of the kitchen and grab my backpack. I'm walking to school. I can't stand to be around Dad right now. I slam the door behind me and stomp down the sidewalk, fuming. Do I really think the abuse is all Dad's fault? I really don't know. Somedays, I don't. Somedays, I know Dada did his best but in the end was deceived by her just like all our teachers and doctors were. But somedays, I hate him. Somedays I blame him with everything that's inside of me. Somedays there's this fire inside, a fire that he set 'cause he abandoned me and Al when we needed him the most. So somedays, I blame him for the whole thing with my entire heart.

"Brother!"

I groan and turn around. Al's gonna lecture me about how I shouldn't be mean to Dada. Al's such a Daddy's boy, it's annoying. I gasp and shake my head. Al's not annoying. I shouldn't think that. Al makes it over, panting, and I stare at him.

"What?" I ask.

"I, uh, wanted to walk with you," Al tells me. I blink. That's not what I was expecting.

"Oh," I say. "Um, okay. C'mon." Al nods and we start walking. I glance over at him, unsure of what he's thinking about. While I can't read Al's mind, I get pretty damn close. I can read everything else about him. His face, his body language, his tone – even his sighs. That's pretty close to reading his mind, I think. But this morning, I can't seem to read him. I don't know what he's thinking about.

"If you don't want me to tell it, I won't," Al tells me after we get out of our neighborhood.

"What?" I ask like I didn't hear his sentence.

"If you don't want me to tell that part of the story, I won't," Al repeats. "I know how hard it is for you." I glance down at my feet. Yeah, it is hard. But I can't deny Al the right to tell our story. He needs to just as much as I do.

"You can tell it," I say softly. "I'll set it up then you finish, 'kay?"

"Mmm, 'kay," Al answers. "If you're sure."  
"I am," I say seriously. I look him in the face and say, "I wanna tell our story so I quit running from it. I wanna tell our story so that someday, maybe I'll have the courage to tell Winry what happened to us. I wanna tell our story so it'll stop chasing us." Al nods.

"Me too," he replies, his chin quivering.

"Please don't cry," I beg. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not gonna cry," Al tells me with a weak smile. "I'm gonna hold in my tears until later. God knows I'm gonna cry when I tell the story." I nod.

"Probably," I agree. "I hate that damn game." Al looks off and nods.

"Me too."

"Hey, Al?" I ask timidly.

"Yeah?" He answers in question.

"Is…. Is Dad mad at me?" I ask guiltily.  
"No," Al replies. "His feelings got a little hurt, that's all."

"What'd you say to him?" I ask.

"I told him that the reason I don't tell him things about it is that I don't make him feel more guilty than he already does," Al tells me. I look down guiltily and Al goes on, "Then I told him that you don't tell him things for the same reason, but that your feelings get confusing sometimes and that's why you yell at him. I hope that's okay. That's what I think happens, anyway. I know that while you do blame Dad, you don't think it's all his fault." I nod.

"I don't," I say, "Mostly, anyways. Somedays I don't but other days…. I don't know. I can't sort it all out, still. It's like my feelings are a jumbled mess of rubber bands or some shit like that. They get all tangled up inside of me and snap when I've had enough. That's when I lash out at Dad and say shit I don't mean."

"I know," Al replies. "I'm the same way 'cept I don't explode usually. I mostly cry 'cause I'm a big friggin' baby."

"I'd much rather cry than blow up at people I care about," I inform him. "It sucks to explode like that all the time." Al smiles and giggles lightly at me.

"I bet, Brother," he says lightly. "Just remember to count to ten, 'kay? You won't blow up if you do that." I grin weakly at him.

"I will," I reply. Al smiles bigger at me.

"Good boy," he praises, taking a page out of my book. "I'm proud of you." My heart feels like there's a space heater inside of me and all I can do is smile at him.


	30. Playing House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys like Ling? 'Cause Ling's in this one.

I get more nervous and anxious as the school day goes on. I'm anxious 'cause when the bell rings, I'll have to face Dada. I was really mean to him and I know it. I don't even know what I'm gonna say to him, honestly. Guess I'll apologize, but after that I don't know what I'll do. I hope he'll understand that I snapped 'cause I'm tired and what I'm gonna talk about in group today is hard. The chain's involved. God, I hate the chain. God, I hate the game she always used to play with it. God, I hate what that game did to Al. Al's being brave and he's gonna talk about it. He's gonna talk about what it did to him and it's gonna suck for both of us. It's gonna be another hard night tonight, I know that much. I just hope Dad's not too mad at me. Lord knows I'm gonna need to sleep in his bed tonight. Lord knows I'm gonna be up crying most of the night and so will Al. I just hope he's not mad at me. I swallow nervously at that thought as the final bell rings. I collect my stuff and hurry out of the classroom to meet up with Al. I know Al tried to smooth things over this morning but if I hurt Dad's feelings, he might still be mad at me when he picks us up. I don't know. All I know is that I'm anxious. I'm shaky and I can't breathe and my whole body's sweating. My stomach's in knots and I think I'm gonna throw up. God, I'm gonna throw up.

I meet up with Al at my locker like always and we walk outside. Kids are filing out of school, pushing passed us so they can get home faster. Not that that really gets them home faster or anything. They still have to get on the bus or to their car then sit in school traffic before they can even leave campus. So pushing me won't get them home any faster. A kid runs right into me and I grunt. I hear them snicker and try to find them. It's Ryan Vaus and he's laughing at me as he struts away with his friends. I glare at him and lunge, Al holding me back. Dad doesn't want me fighting in school. If I got in a fight this afternoon, Dada would be mad at me for sure. So I flip him off and keep walking. Someday I'll clock that self-centered prick right in the face. I don't know when, but I will. He can count on it. Like every school day, Al and I sit on the steps and wait, Winry joining us as well as Ling. They talk to us about the normal stuff and science club it's brought up. Tomorrow's the last meeting for the semester. We won't meet again 'til after Christmas. I mention how Al should plug the shelter tomorrow and that gets Ling all excited. He's not in the club but he loves the shelter and hopes that raising awareness in the school will help the shelter out in the long run. Al blushes and says he isn't sure he can do it and Ling shoots him a look.

"'Course you can," he says seriously. "I know you can. You're passionate, man. That'll make the nervousness go away."

"Yeah, Al," I agree. "Ling's right." Al frowns in thought.

"Then I guess tonight I should make a brochure or something outlining the shelter's biggest problems," he says and I cheer on the inside. He didn't shoot me down! He's gonna do it! He's gonna talk about the shelter in front of the club! Al frowns again and turns to Ling; "I don't know what the biggest problems are. That's kind of a problem."

"Sure is, pal," Ling agrees.

"Are you free tonight after dinner?" Al asks. My brow furrows and Al asks, "If you are, could I come over and learn what the shelter's biggest issues are? I don't want to spread misinformation." Ling nods but then groans.

"What?" I ask.

"My parents are redoing the kitchen and don't want company," Ling tells us. "Sorry, Al. Guess it'll have to wait 'til after Christmas."

"Or…." I begin, my voice shaking. I swallow, trying to get rid of the nervousness I'm feeling, "Or you can come over to our place."

"Really?" Ling asks, Winry shooting me a look.

"Will your dad be okay with company on such short notice?" Winry asks. Al shrugs.

"I don't see why not," Al replies. "We'd probably hang out in my room, mostly."

"Sure, I'm free," Ling says. "I'll need your address, though. Never been to your place."

"Uh, it's 1914 Central Court," I tell him. "We won't be home 'til after five, so give us an hour to eat before coming over."

"Do you want our phone number?" Al asks.

"Sure," Ling says as Dad's car pulls up. Al quickly writes it down and hands the paper to Ling.

"See you tonight, Ling," Al says cheerfully.

"Yeah!" Ling calls, waving. "See ya!" We walk to the car and my stomach's in knots again. I have to face Dad now. I open the door and Dad doesn't look at me. I sit down and sigh, knowing I really hurt his feelings this morning. I just don't know if I can say anything right now, let alone an apology.

"Dada, is it okay if Ling comes over tonight?" Al says, breaking me from my train of thought.

"What for, Al?" Dada asks quietly.

"Well, Brother and I are staying after tomorrow for science club," Al begins. "And I've been thinking of telling everyone some of the disease issues the shelter faces to try and bring in volunteers. The problem is, Dad, is that I don't know what issues are the biggest, so Ling's gonna tell me. Is that okay?"

"Sure, Al," Dad replies. "You boys never have people over besides Winry. It would be nice to meet more of your friends."

"Thanks!" Al chirps. "I hope it actually helps, though."

"Well, if it doesn't you'll know you gave it your best shot," Dad tells him and I swallow nervously. I have to tell him something. I can't just sit here and be quiet the whole way there.

"Dad," I say, my voice shaking. Dad slides his eyes over to me and I swallow again. "I'm sorry!" Dada blinks at me and I shake my head. "I'm so sorry, Dada! I shouldn't have yelled at you this morning! I'm sorry!" Dad's sad face melts and he smiles at me.

"I forgive you," he tells me. "It's alright, sweetheart. I understand."

"You do?" I ask.

"Yes," Dad replies, turning to look at the road again. "That part of you is painful and hard to talk about. I understand."

"Dada, are you gonna stay?" Al asks. "For the group, I mean."

"Actually, I am," Dad tells us both. "If it's alright with you."

"Well, I did invite you," I point out. Dad chuckles.

"Guess you did," he says. "I'll only stay for your story, though. Don't think it's right of me to stay any longer than that."

"I usually talk first so there's that," I tell him.

"What are you gonna do after that?" Al asks.

"Lucy and I are grabbing coffee after that," Dad answers with a grin. "Second date, boys?" I laugh and shake my head.

"Dad, a date has to be longer than 30 minutes to really count," I inform him.

"When are you going out with her again?" Al asks curiously.

"Oh, I don't know," Dad replies, pulling into the parking spot. "Soon, I'd suspect. It's been a couple weeks since our first date."

"You gonna take her out?" I ask, getting out of the car. "We can stay with Winry for a night if you wanna do that."

"That would be wonderful, Ed," Dada replies happily. "You're acting very grown-up about this. I'm proud, Ed." I smile brightly at him, that warm sugar warming my body all over. I don't open my mouth to reply because if I do, all that sugar will escape and I don't want that to happen too soon.

We get inside and we show Dada our regular seats. The kids all stare at him and I guess that before I start talking, I'll have to introduce him. Dr. Hughes spots us and walks over, striking up conversation with Dad right away. We talk with him for a while before he goes to talk with somebody else. He was cool with Dad staying. Dr. Hughes actually thinks it's good for Dada to hear our story. If this is my comfortable place to talk about it, Dr. Hughes thinks it's a good thing for Dad to tag along sometimes so I can share it with him. He even said it might help some of my hurt feelings get resolved. I guess I get where Dr. Hughes is coming from. If I share it with Dada, if I tell him those things, I might not blame him anymore. I don't know. The rest of the group files in and I wait 'til they're all seated to set my watch. Once everyone's sitting, I go ahead and start the timer and start talking,

"Okay, two things before I start the story," I announce. I gesture to Dad and say, "This is my Dad. He's gonna listen to my story today. And Al's gonna talk a little today, too." The kids all sit up in their seats, wondering what in the world we're talking about that requires two people. My hands are sweating anxiously but I try to ignore them and tell my story. I take a deep breath and say,

"The food game wasn't the only game Vanessa liked to play with us. The summer before I started first grade, Vanessa came up with a new game; a game that would leave scars on both me and Al. It was…. June, maybe July, and Dada was gone. I don't remember where he was that time. All I remember is that he was gone. Like usual, we weren't getting fed or bathed and we got beaten pretty much every day. Sometimes Vanessa would play the food game, but I could tell that she was getting bored of that one. We were starting to learn how to twist the game to our advantage as well, something that pissed her off. Sometimes when she okayed us to actually eat, we'd fall face first into the plate and inhale as much food as we could in the few seconds we had. So naturally, Vanessa felt like she had to up her game. She needed a new way to keep us in line, I guess. I don't know. One morning Al and I woke up to newspapers and a collar in the middle of our living room. We were both super confused and I remember that Al thought that maybe we were getting a dog. I wasn't so sure, though. I mean, I was only six, but I had a nasty feeling in my stomach that told me those items weren't as innocent as they looked. There was also a playpen in our living room, something that only babies use. There was a bunch of baby stuff in there, too, like bibs and pacifiers and shit. When I saw that, I knew for sure something was off.

"'Morning, boys," Vanessa greeted, walking into the living room. We only stared up at her, knowing better than to talk. We knew not to speak unless she gave us permission to do so. If we spoke without permission, we'd regret it. Vanessa walked over to us and smiled sweetly at us.

'Would you like to play house?' She asked sweetly. My brow furrowed. Was that what all that stuff was for? I wasn't sure, but I did know I was scared. I actually hated her sweet voice more than her mean one. For some reason, she was always crueler when she used that sweet voice. I shook my head and stood instinctively in front of Al.

'No,' I answered softly.

'Oh, now that's mean, Edward,' she said sadly. 'I hoped you could be the dog and Al'd be the baby. Doesn't that sound like fun?' I shook my head again and she grabbed my hair. I cried out as she forced me on to the newspaper and snapped the collar around my neck. I coughed as she tightened it, Al quivering behind us.

'There,' she said, straightening her back. 'I even had the tag engraved with your name, Edward.' I looked at the tag and sure enough, my name was carved into it. Vanessa walked away and shortly returned with two dog dishes. One had dog food in it and the other had water. She smiled at me and petted my hair like I was a dog.

'Here you go, Edward,' she said. 'Here's breakfast.' I stared at the food before looking up at her.

'I can' eat this,' I told her. 'I'm not a dog!' Vanessa slapped me across the face and Al started crying.

'Bad dog,' she scolded. 'Barking at nothing and scaring the baby.' Vanessa walked away and grabbed Al by the hair. 'Time to get baby dressed.' Al struggled a little while I just watched. She forced him to wear baby clothes, including a diaper, and got him a bottle to drink. Once she was finished with him she stuck him in the play pen and smiled proudly.

'Now,' she said, 'I'm going out for a while. I've baby proofed and dog proofed the house so you two can't get into trouble. If I come home and you've stopped playing, you'll regret it.' I shivered fearfully and nodded. I knew that I'd be in big trouble if I stopped playing house. But I also knew that I wasn't a dog. I didn't want to pretend to be a dog. I didn't want to play her game. Vanessa walked over to me and said, 'If you don't eat your food, dog, you'll get chained up.' I nodded, tears of shame in my eyes. I knew better than to argue.

"Even though I didn't want to, even though it tasted nasty, I ate the dog food. I ate it right out of that damn bowl and cried the whole time. I drank the water, too, Al staring at me from inside the playpen. He had finished his bottle even though he didn't want to drink it and we talked for a minute. He told me he had to go potty. I told him I needed to go, too. We sat in silence for a bit, unsure of what we could do. What was going to get us in trouble? My instant and only thought was my worst one; not playing our roles would be what got us in trouble. But I wasn't a dog and Al wasn't a baby. We didn't like how she was forcing to play house when we didn't want to. Besides, I never wanted to be the dog when I played house with Al and Winry. I liked being the dad. I was the dad, Winry was the mom, and Al was my brother or the cat or the baby or something like that. But we never forced him to wear different clothes or anything like that. When he was the cat we never made him eat cat food or use the litter box. He could do whatever he wanted until he decided he didn't want to play anymore. But we didn't have the option of not playing anymore. If we stopped playing, we'd get in trouble and neither of us were going to risk that.

"When Vanessa had told me she 'dog proofed' the house, I wasn't sure what she meant. When I finally decided I needed to use the bathroom, I figured it out. Every door in our house was locked. The door to my room, the sliding glass door, the door to Dada's office, Dada's room, and of course all the bathrooms were looked. I looked around for a coin or a bobby pin or something I could use to unlock a bathroom with but couldn't find one. Al watched me as I frantically searched and I watched as his eyes glanced over at the newspaper. My eyes widened in horror and I shook my head.

"'No way!' I cried. 'I'm not a dog! I'm not peein' on newspaper!'

'But, Brother,' Al said softly, 'If we don' play, we'll get in trouble. Puppies go potty on newspapers 'til they're potty trained. Tha's what Winry says.'

'But I'm not a dog!' I protested, squirming on my feet. I messed with the collar on my neck and screamed wordlessly. I yanked at it until it came off, throwing it on the ground once it was off. 'I'm not playing this game anymore! I won't wear a collar an' I won't go pee on newspaper! I'm gonna watch TV until she gets home. Then I'll go pee in the bathroom 'cause I'm a kid, not a dog.'

'Brother,' Al whimpered from inside the playpen, 'I don' wanna play either. Let me out.' I nodded.

'Yeah, okay,' I said. I unlatched the playpen and Al stood up. He waddled a bit 'cause of the diaper and walked with me to the couch. We turned on the TV and fought over something to watch. I realized that we'd get in trouble for disobeying her, but I never could have imagined just what she was going to do to us.

"It was around dinner time when Vanessa got home. I had managed to hold my pee in all afternoon and was actually pretty proud of myself. That is, I was proud of myself until I heard her come into the door. The TV was on, pretty loud, too, and neither of us were playing the game anymore. As soon as she saw us, she lost it. She started screaming at us, calling us bad and rotten and all that shit. She stared angrily at me and demanded where the collar was. I told her I wasn't a dog and that I wasn't going to wear it anymore. Big mistake. She grabbed me by my hair and found the collar. She dragged me outside and forced the collar around my neck. I choked as she forced it on and didn't realize what was happening to me yet. Vanessa scolded me like I was dog and said that I was going to sleep in the yard. My heart stalled as I heard the dog chain rattle from behind me. I begged her to stay way, to leave me alone, but of course she didn't listen. Al watched from the sliding glass door as Vanessa held me down in our backyard and chained me to the dog chain. I was crying loudly, begging her to let me up when she gagged me so I couldn't make any noise. Once I was chained, Vanessa went back inside to beat Al for being 'bad' and all I could do is cry."

I stop talking and turn to Al. He looks at me and nods. It's his turn now. He's got fifteen minutes to tell his portion of the story. I glance over at Dad and see he's white as a ghost. I guess he wasn't expecting to hear that today. I don't know. Al takes my hand and inhales deeply. No going back now.

"The game was pretty much the same every time she played it with us," Al begins shakily. He takes a deep breath to compose himself before saying, "Ed was pretty defiant because he wanted to make sure she knew he wasn't a dog. At first, she seemed to enjoy his protests and liked to chain him up outside when she had enough of his fighting. But soon, she started to get really irritated with him fighting her all the time.

"Two weeks before I started kindergarten, we were playing her demented version of house. Brother had fought her tooth and nail about eating dog food out of a dog bowl for about an hour. I could tell she was getting fed up with him and I wanted nothing more than to yell for him to just eat the dumb food already. But when we were playing the game, I wasn't allowed to speak. Babies don't speak, after all. If I did talk, I got beaten and I'd rather avoid that if I could. I guess looking back on it I was being kinda selfish but I was only five. If I could avoid getting hurt I was going to do it. Being selfish wasn't really on my mind. So instead I sat in the stupid playpen and sucked on that stupid binkie and watched as Vanessa finally lost it. She exploded at him and grabbed him by the collar. I remember growing up, I really started to hate that collar. She used the same one every time we played, the one with Ed's named engraved in the tag. I hated it because it made my brother think less of himself. I hated it because it made my brother feel lower than a dog. Anyway, Vanessa dragged him outside and I assumed that she was going to chain him up like usual. Boy, was I wrong. Oh, she chained him, but what she did next will stay with me for the rest of my life.

"She hit him with it."

Al pauses briefly, tears welling up in his eyes. He shakes his head, chin quivering, and continues, "I can remember every hit in my head. Every smack, every scream…. I remember everything about it. I remember the binkie dropping from my mouth as it hung open in horror. I'd never seen her hurt us like that before. She usually stuck to beating us and occasionally burning us. I had never seen her do anything like that before. It felt like it went on forever, me helpless to stop it. I had to sit and watch every hit, every link in the chain that dug into Brother's flesh. He eventually passed out from the pain and soon, hitting him with the chain became a normal thing when we played house.

"I remember when I started kindergarten, I was so excited. I got to go to school with Brother. But more importantly, I got to get away from Vanessa for a while. I had spent way more time with her those first few months of abuse than I would have liked. My first week went great, Dada praising me for being a good boy for my teacher and all that. He was due to leave the week after my second week but I found I wasn't really thinking about that. Even though Vanessa had found ways to abuse and control us when Dada was home, I liked school too much to care. I was making friends and I really loved learning. I liked being outside the house since I never got out of it anymore and I liked making Dada proud of me. So with school on my mind, I couldn't really focus on the abuse. The week before Dada was going to leave, I remember playing with a couple kids in my class. We had some classroom free time where we were allowed to play or read or do whatever we wanted, really. I liked classroom free time because it offered me a freedom that I never got at home. The kids decided on a game to play collectively before asking me to play with them.

"'Ally!' They cried eagerly, 'Ally! We're gonna play house!' I remember my heart slowing down and that it was hard to breathe. The all giggled and dished out the roles for the game. I anxiously awaited my role, my heart unable to beat right as fear consumed every bit of me. The kids pointed at me and said,

'You can be the baby!' I lost it. I completely lost it. I started crying and the kids all got worried. They walked over to me to ask what was wrong and I pushed them. One of them hit their back on a desk and started crying loudly. I was shaking, my teacher hurrying over to make sure everything was okay. When she learned I had pushed the kid, she got really mad at me.

'Move your stick, Alphonse,' she commanded. 'I'll have to call home.'

'No!' I cried, 'I don't like this game! I don't wanna play this game!' I guess I hadn't heard her. Or maybe my mind turned her into Vanessa as she scolded me. I can't remember. I guess I was too scared to remember it properly. I was bawling loudly, apologizing over and over. The teacher told me to move my stick again and I ran off. I hurried into the hallway and cowered under a chair near the office. The teacher followed me outside and knelt down in front of the chair so she could talk to me.

'Al, are you alright?' She asked me worriedly.

'I'm sorry,' I whimpered. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

'If you don't like a game your friends want to play, tell them with words next time instead of pushing,' she told me gently.

'I'm sorry,' I said again, still crying. 'I wan' my daddy.'

'You're in school, Al,' the teacher reminded me. 'Your dad will pick you up when the school day's over.' I wanted to cry harder and beg her to call Dada. I wanted to tell her right then and there that Vanessa abused me. That she was the reason I didn't want to play house with the other kids. But I didn't; I couldn't. My words got trapped in my throat by some invisible barrier that I didn't even realize was there. I couldn't say anything, not even what I wanted to say with my whole heart.

"I ended up having to move my stick even though I said I was sorry. I was terrified of what was going to happen to me. Was Dada going to finally decide I was a bad boy and hurt me like Vanessa did? Was he going to let Vanessa beat me when they both decided it was the best way to punish a bad boy like me? I didn't know, but I was terrified. I told Brother about my yellow day and he suggested that I hide it. But I knew better. Vanessa would find out. She always found out about stuff, even the stuff I didn't want her to know. When Dada picked us up that afternoon, I broke down again. I started wailing incoherently about playing house and babies and moving my stick. Dad was confused and couldn't understand a word I was saying and I couldn't tell him because I was so upset. So Ed had to tell him for me.

'Don' be mad, Dada,' Ed said, 'But Ally pushed some kids an' got a yellow day.'

'Alphonse Jacob!' Dada cried. I flinched in my car seat and he went on, 'You know better than to do that! I'm very disappointed in you, young man.'

'He's sorry!' Ed cried loudly in protest. 'He got scared is all!'

'Scared of what?' Dada demanded. Ed squeaked, all color draining from his face. He shook his head and didn't speak again. Dad looked at me and I knew he was mad. 'You're going straight to your room when we get home. No supper.' I started crying even harder.

'Sorry, Dada!' I wailed. 'I'm sorry! I-I w-w-won' d-d-do it ag-again, p-p-promise!' Dad's face softened in the rearview mirror and he sighed.

'I know you're sorry, baby,' Dada said gently. 'But I still have to punish you even if you're sorry.'

'L-Let me e-eat,' I begged. 'I'll b-b-be a g-good boy. Let m-me eat!'

'You promise to be a good boy?' Dad asked.

'Y-Yeah,' I hiccupped miserably.

'Okay, you can have dinner but you still have to spend the rest of the afternoon in your room,' Dada told me. 'No playing, okay?'

'M'kay,' I whimpered. I did spend all afternoon in my room. I spent it staring in the mirror, repeating 'I'm a bad boy' in the mirror over and over until Dada came to get me for dinner."

My watch starts beeping and Al stops talking instantly. Every eye is on him and he shifts awkwardly in his seat. A chair next to me squeaks and I look over. Dad's standing now, the kids all staring at him. His face is still all white, his eyes wide like he's watching something horrible happen but can't look away. Like when we drive by a car accident. It's terrible but we can't seem to stop looking at it. Dada shakes his head and starts walking away, everyone watching him.

"Thanks for letting me sit in," he says, his back facing us. He walks out the door and no one mentions my dad or my story again for the rest of the hour.

The hour ends and Dr. Hughes talks to us like always but not about my story. He doesn't mention Dada, my story, or how Al finally told part of it after a month or so of me doing all the talking. No, instead he asks about school and what our Christmas plans are. Christmas is still two weeks away. We've got a week of classes left then finals then break. Christmas is on a Wednesday. That's another Wednesday I won't get to tell my story. It's kinda weird that Dr. Hughes isn't talking about group like usual. I thought if nothing else, Dr. Hughes would praise Al for being brave and talking in group. I mean, Al hasn't said anything to the group since he told everyone why he thought we told stories so many Wednesdays ago. I thought for sure Dr. Hughes would want to talk about that. Dad never comes back into the building so after ten minutes of waiting we walk outside. Dada's car is parked nearby and we walk over. I wonder how coffee with Lucy went. I get in the front seat, Al slides in the back, and Dad drives away. It's completely silent in the car, Al looking worriedly at Dada from the back seat.

"What's wrong, Dada?" Al asks anxiously.

"You've never told me," Dad say softly. He grips the steering wheel tight and says, "You never told me just how bad it was. I never imagined…. I didn't realize…." Dad chokes and I can tell he's fighting back tears. I blink, unable to say anything to him. I've never really known how to deal with Dad crying. Mostly 'cause he's never really cried in front of me and Al before. It's uncharted territory for sure. Al leans forward in his seat, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

"Dada, don't cry," Al begs. "Don't cry. It's okay."

"It's not okay, Alphonse!" Dad snaps, Al flinching violently. "You boys…. You suffered so damn much and I never caught on! I only saw what I wanted to see. I wanted to see us being a happy family and that blinded me to your pain. She treated you like dogs! Nothing will ever make that okay, Alphonse! Nothing!"

"Don't you yell at him!" I cut in angrily. "He's just worried about you! Don't yell at him!" Dada glances over at me and sighs.

"I know," Dad says sadly. "I'm sorry, Al. Today was just…harder than I thought it'd be."

"Are you glad you heard?" I ask curiously. Dad shrugs.

"I don't know to be honest," Dada replies. "I think part of me is glad you allowed me to see a side of you that hurts you so much but part of me wishes I had never heard what I heard. To hear what she did to you, even that small portion, was too much to bear. I can't believe going through that. You boys are so incredible strong." I don't know about that. I mean, I know Al's strong, but I'm not so sure about me. I wasn't strong enough to protect Al growing up. I wasn't strong enough to tell someone the abuse was going on and get us the help we needed. I'm not even strong enough to tell my friends I was abused at all. I'm not strong. I never have been.

"How was coffee?" Al asks, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Short, but it was nice," Dad answers. He smiles and says, "Got myself a date this Sunday night."

"Oh," Al breathes.

"Dinner?" I ask.

"And a movie," Dada tells me. "I don't even know what's showing, as silly as it sounds." I shrug.

"You've always had a hard time keeping up with stuff like that," I say. "It's okay." Dad smiles at me and shakes his head.

"Where do you want to get dinner from, boys?" Dad asks. "And do I need to feed Ling?"

"Don't worry about Ling," I tell him. "He's gonna eat at home. We have enough snack food to appease him if we need to." Dada laughs at me.

"Good," he says. He glances back at Al and sighs sadly. Al's all hunched over, his eyes glued to his shoes. He really can't handle getting yelled at. He really can't. I open my mouth to say something but Dada beats me to it, "How about you pick, Al? You were so brave today." Al glances up, his eyes sad. He shrugs halfheartedly and sighs.

"I don't care," he says sadly. "We can go anywhere Brother wants to go."

"I didn't ask Brother," Dada points out gently. "I ask you, honey. Where do you want to eat? What are you in the mood for?" Al blinks and glances back down again. He mutters something under his breath and Dad asks, "What did you say, sweetie?"

"Um," Al squeaks, "Panera? I've been craving their mac and cheese all day, honestly."

"That sounds wonderful," Dad says, handing me his phone. "Order with the app., Ed. With any luck, it'll be nearly ready by the time we get there." I nod and chuckle as I unlock his phone.

"Well," I begin lightly, "The nearest Panera is, like, twenty minutes away. I have this feeling we'll get there just as their finishing up. You want bread or an apple, Ally?"

"Bread," Al answers. "And milk, please."

"Yeah, yeah," I chuckle, shaking my head. "I know, Al. I know."

Sure enough, our food was ready as soon as Dada pulled into a spot. He hurried in to pick it up (we can pay with the app., so we didn't have to wait for him to pay) and were on our way home. We quickly ate dinner once we got home, Picard laying at Al's feet and cleared the table as soon as we finished eating. Dad fumbled around after that, trying to get the house a little cleaner before Ling showed up. Our house isn't that bad, really. It's just kina dusty and cluttered. Al and I help him, Picard following us around as we frantically try to get the house presentable. Dad knows that Ling's rich and has a maid and all that shit. So while he really doesn't care about impressing him, he also doesn't want Ling to think we're slobs or something. As we work, the doorbell rings. Al says he'll get it (he is the one who invited Ling over) so Dada and I keep dusting while Al nervously goes to the front door.

"Hey, Ling," I hear Al greet as Picard hisses and runs passed me.

"Captain," I groan, "Chill out." Al shuts the door and walks into the living room, Ling behind him. I throw my duster and grin at him, Dad appearing beside me.

"Hi," I say, Dad ruffling my hair as he goes to introduce himself to Ling.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Dada tells him, shaking his hand. "The boys talk about you often." I blush.

"Dad," I complain, "Don't do that or we won't invite anyone over again!" Al giggles at me and Ling chuckles.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Elric," Ling says all proper-like. Dad laughs and shakes his head.

"You don't have to call me that," he tells Ling. "You can call me Victor if you're comfortable with that."

"Are you hungry, Ling?" Al asks.

"Nah," he replies. "Just ready to get to work."

"Mmm, 'kay," Al hums. "I'll get the laptop."

"I'll show Ling our room," I say. I gesture to the stairs with my head and say, "Follow me."

"Come get me if you need something," Dada tells me. I wave at him and lead Ling up the stairs.

"I didn't know you guys shared a room," Ling says.

"Oh, yeah," I reply. "Guess it never came up before." I get to my room and open the door, cringing when I see Dada made our beds. Lamby is sitting on my pillow for Ling to see and I rush over to push him off the bed. Ling's looking around so I guess he hasn't noticed my stupid lamb yet so I shove him under the bed with my foot. Sorry, Lamby, but I don't want Ling to know you exist. No offense.

"You guys keep things clean," Ling comments in the door way. I chuckle and gesture to the beanbag chair sitting near my bed.

"Yeah," I reply. "You can sit. Al won't be much longer." Ling nods and sits down.

"So," he says awkwardly, "How was your afternoon?" I shrug.

"Eh," I shrug. "Fine. You?"

"Loud," Ling tells me. "My parents had people over working on the kitchen all afternoon. Very annoying."

"I bet," I laugh. "I'm glad that home improvement isn't something on Dada's mind."

"Hey, guys," Al says happily, walking in. He's got three mugs in his hands and the laptop bag on his back. He shuts the door with his foot and says, "I brought hot chocolate!"

"Thanks, dude!" Ling exclaims excitedly. Al hands him a mug, hands me one, and sits down next to me on my bed.

"I was thinking," Al says, resting his mug on his lap. "If you wanted to we could play video games after we finish the brochure." I blink and glance over to Al. I thought for sure having someone new in our house would freak him out. I thought he'd be quiet and shy and not talk at all. But he's not. He's happy. He's smiling. He doesn't care what Ling sees in our room or if Ling stays longer. He's really enjoying having company and I'm kinda shocked. But then again, I'm not that anxious, either. Maybe it's 'cause it's Ling. I don't know.

"Sure," Ling replies, setting his mug down. He pulls his laptop out and says, "You ready?" Al grins and gets our laptop out, too.

"You bet," Al says. I grin proudly and take a sip of my hot chocolate. I'm glad that Ling came over. That means that I can invite him over to watch movies or play video games or use the trampoline. I also guess it means that maybe we really are getting better. I mean, if we can have someone in our room that isn't Dada or Winry, we really have made progress. We've made progress that Ling doesn't even know about. He doesn't know anything. But that's okay. That's okay 'cause I don't have to tell him right now. I don't have to tell him anything 'til I'm ready for him to know. And the way I'm feeling right now, I actually think that I might be ready to tell him sooner rather than later. That's a big deal. It's a big deal for me 'cause it really means that I'm getting better. There's nothing more important than getting better in my mind. I take another sip while I listen to Ling tell Al that lots of kittens die of feline upper respiratory infections each year and can't help but smile. I'm getting better. I really, really am.


	31. Science Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I joined a biology honors society in undergrad and that's basically a big kid version of a science club.

We played video games for a long time before Ling finally left. The brochure that Al and Ling made looks amazing. I really hope that this actually gets people to volunteer at the shelter. If it doesn't and nothing else changes, the little shelter will be dead in two years. That's what Ling said. He mentioned that as we played Smash Bros. while Dada sipped tea nearby. I didn't have anything to really say but luckily Al did. He said that giving people information will probably get people to volunteer. Ling agreed wholeheartedly and stayed at our house until almost ten. Dad told him that he could come by any time and Ling left, leaving us to get ready for bed. I kinda hope that Ling'll come over again soon. Even though I was kinda anxious about Ling coming over, I actually really liked having him over. I wasn't very anxious when he was actually at my house and we had fun chillin' in my room and playing video games. Dr. Hughes always says that part of getting better is doing the stuff that makes you anxious 'cause if you keep doing it, eventually it won't make you anxious anymore. It's not doing everything all at once, either. If you do that, your anxiety will go crazy and it'll never get better. If you do a little bit at a time, though, slowly those things that make you anxious just won't anymore. And if they do, you'll at least be able to do what you want to do and ignore the dull roar of your anxiety. Since I made it through Ling being at my house and ignored my anxiety the whole time he was here, I guess that I'm really getting better. It's nice to think that I'm actually getting better.

It's been a couple of hours and I can't sleep. I've dozed off a couple of times but for some reason I can't actually fall asleep. Guess I have a lot on my mind that I didn't know about until I tried sleeping. But my thoughts are all jumbled together and I can't really make sense of them. It happens a lot. My anxiety makes my thoughts and feelings cloudy and confusing so that when I lay awake at night, sometimes I don't know why. Picard stirs on Al's bed, meowing softly as he stretches. He stares at me, bright blue eyes piercing the night. He shakes his ears and hops off the bed, scratching at the door. I groan; guess he needs to use his box. I stand, grumbling that someone shut the door instead of leaving it open like usual. I open the door, Picard darting away and leaving me standing in the doorway. Al moans pitifully in his sleep and I shake my head. Even on days where we make progress, even on days when we're happy, we still have nightmares. We never get a break. Al thrashes a bit, his moans becoming disjointed pleas that I can't really understand. There's words, sure, but they don't make sense when combined with the other words. He's also still moaning and whimpering, making it hard for me to understand the words he's saying.

"Brother," Al whimpers in his sleep, his thrashing getting progressively worse. "Brother! Brother! No! Brother!" I walk over, Al getting increasingly louder and more violent as his nightmare continues. I crouch down next to him, knowing better than to reach out and touch him right now. He nearly broke my nose last week when I tried waking him up during a nightmare. I'm not gonna do that again. So instead I'll stay beside him 'til he wakes up. It's all I really can do.

"Brother!" Al screams, the alarm beginning to go off. I hurry to turn it off, Al still screaming for me. I have to do something. I don't know what, but something. I get the alarm to stop making noise and hurry back over to Al's bed. I lean over him, far enough away that he can't hit me by accident, and say,

"Al, it's okay. Brother's here now. You're safe." Al screams wordlessly, his face stuck in a terrified grimace as he trashes around in bed.

"Brother!" Al cries again. "B-Brother!"

"Alphonse, it's me," I try again, the alarm going off again. Guess he stopped peeing but started again. I just ignore the alarm and try to focus on Al. He screams again so I yell, "Wake up, Alphonse!" He jerks forward, panting and screaming and crying as his eyes fly open. He shakily looks around, the alarm blaring loudly. I walk over to turn it off, Picard running by my feet. I look back at Al, my brother sobbing loudly and bringing his knees to his chest. I walk over and sit down on his soaked bed, Al glancing over at me. He's crying uncontrollably, Picard snuggling up against his thigh. Without saying anything I pull Al into my chest and let him cry. He cries and cries, slowly crawling up into my lap. He's soaking wet but I doubt it's all pee. It can't be. Some of it's sweat. I can smell it. Al wraps his arms and legs around me, crying harder than he's cried in a while. The door creeks open and I know it's Dad. I can hear him walk over and feel the bed sink as Dada sits down on the other side of me.

"Is he okay?" Dad asks in a whisper. I shake my head, Al's fingers latching on to my clothes.

"I don't think so," I reply softly, rubbing Al's back with my hand. "Some hell of a nightmare he had."

"Does he have Chico?" Dada asks. I shake my head and Dad goes looking for Chico in Al's tangled mess of saturated blankets. He finally finds him and gently places him underneath Al's arm. "Here, baby," Dad says gently. "Here's your Chico." Dad sits back down and watches as Al sobs uncontrollably into my chest. I do what I can, but I don't think I can get him to calm down. No one can when he cries like this.

"It's gonna be a while," I inform Dada. "I don't know if I can get him to stop."

"Let's see if we can move him," Dad replies. "Then I can strip the bed while you try to calm him down." I nod.

"He's soaked, Dada," I tell him.

"We'll get there when we get there," Dad says. "Let's just tackle this one thing at a time." I nod again.

"I can't stand with him on my lap," I say. "You'll have to take him."

"Okay," Dada says, "Okay. I'll lift him and you hurry to your bed. Once you're seated, I'll put him next to you, okay?" I nod a third time.

"Yeah, okay," I reply. Dad takes a deep breath and slides his hands under Al's armpits. Instantly Al starts freaking out. He starts flailing and crying and kicking and it's obvious he doesn't know who just grabbed him.

"Shh, it's okay," Dad coos in Al's ear, Al fighting him hardcore. "It's just Daddy, Al. It's just Daddy." Al grunts while he struggles, trying desperately to get away. I go to sit down on my bed, watching as Dad tries to get a grip on a terrified, struggling Al. Dad cries out in pain, Al crashing to the floor. He crawls away, Dad cradling his hand.

"Dada!" I cry, standing up. I rush over and Dad smiles weakly.

"He startled me, that's all," Dad tells me. "He bit me."

"Bit you?" I echo.

"He's confused," Dad says. "He's scared. I should have waited from him to calm down before trying to move him."

"I'll go take care of him," I tell him. I glance at his hand and grimace. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Dad assures me. "He didn't get me too badly. You focus on Al, honey." I nod and walk over to Al. He's cowering in a corner, still crying heavily. I squat down in front of him and can't help but feel sorry for him. He's covered in his own sweat and pee and can't stop crying.

"Hey," I say gently. Al looks at me, his frightened eyes scanning me for potential threats. "It's me, Ally. It's Brother. It's okay now. You're safe." Al inches over, mumbling incoherently as he cries. I can't understand anything he's saying so I simply say, "That's it. C'mon, come here. Come here." Al slowly crawls over, getting back onto my lap and lowering his face into my shoulder. Al continues sobbing, his shaking fingers gripping my clothes again. I start rubbing my back, knowing that won't really do much for him but I feel so useless. I can't help him when he cries like this. I've never been able to. No one can. I'm the same way when I cry like this. Sometimes we'll cry for hours and won't even remember why we're crying. I guess we just have a lot of feelings in our hearts that our minds don't know is there. I don't know.

"I've got the bed stripped," Dada tells me, kneeling down beside me. "But I don't think Ally's ready to get changed yet."

"He's not," I answer, petting his hair with one hand and rubbing his back with the other. "If he's crying like this, there's a chance he'll freak out on you again." Dada nods and sighs sadly.

"I wish there was something we could do," Dad mumbles, almost to himself. Al just keeps crying, but I can finally understand him.

"Br-Brother!" He wails. "Brother!"

"Hey," I say softly, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave you until you feel safe again. Promise."

"Wh-Where's D-Daddy?" Al cries.

"He's here," I tell him. "He's here. You want him?"

"Yeah," Al hiccups, still crying. Dada takes Al away from me and shakes his head.

"Ed, you have school in the morning," Dad says, "So why don't you get changed and go back to sleep?"

"What about Al?" I ask.

"I'll pick out some clothes for him and take him into my room for a while," Dad tells me. "Hopefully he'll either cry himself out or calm down enough to get changed."

"Okay," I agree, "Yeah." Dada kisses my forehead, wishes me sweet dreams, and carries Al out of my room. Picard follows them and I take my damp pajamas off. I just put on a clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt then crawl into bed. I shut my eyes, hoping that soon, I'll be able to sleep.

I think it's been an hour since Al's nightmare. I've napped since then, but can't seem to stay asleep. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. I decide that I can't sleep on my own tonight. I put my leg back on, remember to grab Lamby and my blanket, and go to Dada's room. I pause briefly, shocked to hear Al crying softly still. It's definitely better than it was, but he's not calm yet. Poor Dad. He has to work tomorrow and it's really late. I bet he wishes he could sleep. I peek into the door, Dada sitting in an old wooden rocking chair left over from our baby days. He's rocking back and forth, whispering softly.

"Come on," Dad says quietly. "Please stop crying. Stop crying, Alphonse." Al whimpers, panting as he continues crying. "Alphonse," Dad says wearily. "I'm exhausted. I'm so tired, Al. You need to stop crying. Please stop crying." I knew it. I knew Dada was tired. I knew he was getting tired of sitting up with us night after night after night because we can't sleep. I knew it.

"S-Sorry," Al manages, still crying.

"Don't be sorry, Alphonse," Dad says. "Just stop."

"It's not his fault!" I yell from the door. "Leave him alone!"

"Edward," Dada breathes. "What are you doing up?"

"I, uh, couldn't sleep," I answer. "Wanted to sleep with you."

"Ed," Dad sighs, "It's clearly going to be a while before I get to sleep. Go sleep in your own bed."

"I don't wanna!" I cry like a little kid. "I'm scared! I wanna sleep with you!"

"Sleep in your bed," Dad tells me. "Act your age, Edward."

"I don't wanna!" I say again. "I don't wanna! I wanna sleep with you!"

"No," Dad says firmly. "Go to bed."

"No!" I yell. "I'm sleeping with you!"

"No, you're not," Dada replies angrily. "Damn it, boys! Sometimes I can't tell if I have toddlers or teenagers they way you act! Edward – you're nearly sixteen. Go sleep in your own bed!" Al whimpers on Dad's lap and I shudder.

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I don't mean to act this way. Honest! I wouldn't act this way on purpose! It's not like I love being fifteen and sleeping with my dad! It's not like I enjoy waking up at all hours of the night screaming and covered in piss and crying 'til my lungs hurt! This isn't exactly a treat for me either, Dad!" Dad looks at me and lower his head, a sigh escaping his lips.

"I know," he says sadly, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "I wasn't very kind to you and I'm sorry"

"Dada, I know we can act like babies but we don't want to," I tell him. "We really don't. We know you're tired and…." I trail off, my throat feeling like rubber. My breathing heavily, my face quivering as I try to hold back tears. Al's nuzzled into Dad's shoulder, Dada glancing down at him. I can see a tired but fond smile spread across Dada's face as Al snuggles in closer to him.

"I think he's asleep," Dad says fondly. Al stirs and shakes his head.

"Mmm, no," he replies sleepily. "Almost."

"I'm sorry for what I said," Dada apologizes, kissing Al's hair and standing up. "I know how hard you boys are trying. Believe it or not, your good nights are slowly beginning to outweigh the bad ones." I nod, wiping my face of stray tears.

"If you're not very mad," I begin, my voice shaking, "Could I sleep in your bed?" Dad looks at me.

"Do I look very mad?" Dad asks me. I shake my head and he says, "Get in bed, kiddo."

"Are you sure?" I ask nervously. Dad nods and I ask, "What about Al?" Dad chuckles at adjusts Al in his arms.

"I can handle sleepy boy here," Dada tells me. "You get in bed and try to get to sleep. I'll help Al get changed." I nod and crawl into his big bed. I guess that Dada got Al changed without any problems because they're beside me now.

"I really am sorry about what I said," Dada whispers tiredly. "I know how hard you're trying. I really do."

"I know," I reply. "But I also know how tired you are."

"And I know how tired you boys are," Dad counters. I yawn and Dada fixes my bangs as he says, "No more talking, Ed. Go to sleep." I nod and close my eyes. I inhale deeply and can smell Dad's stale cologne in the sheets and in his pajamas. I smile weakly and for the first time all night, I actually feel safe.

Today's been a hard day. I haven't really slept well the last several days so sitting through school's been rough. I've toughed it out, though, 'cause of Al. Al needs to stay after school so we can go to science club so he can talk about the shelter. He and Ling did a lot of work putting together the brochure. We printed a bunch of them this morning before we got to school so we wouldn't have to deal with the school's shitty old computers and printers. I swear those bastards can smell fear. Like, seriously. They can tell when you're in a hurry and purposely go slower when you're stressed out. The final bell rings and I leave my class so I can meet Al and Winry by my locker. Winry doesn't know that Al's gonna talk about the shelter today. I forgot to mention it this morning when we met up with her. Al didn't say anything to her, either. I guess he didn't want to spend his courage before this afternoon. I don't know. That or he was exhausted. Either one. I get to my locker and see Al beat me. He's bouncing on his toes anxiously, gnawing on his lip. I walk over, Al glancing over at me. He tells me with his eyes that he's nervous about talking in front of the club. I reply by reminding him that he talked in group yesterday so this'll be a piece of cake for him. Al grins weakly at that and we wait for Winry.

Winry finally gets to my locker and we walk to the club together. The club is run by my chemistry teacher, Mr. Armstrong. He's this huge, bulky, mostly bald guy with a mustache who's way to obsessed with chemistry. I swear this guy must eat, breathe, and dream about chemistry at all times. Except when he's working out because he's also a fitness nut who just loves to talk about his workout routine when he's not worshiping the early chemists for paving the way for modern chemistry. Anyway, Mr. Armstrong thinks it's a good idea to get people excited about science outside the classroom as well as inside it which is why he started the club. I joined during freshman orientation last year and have been going to meetings since. I don't do much else, though, because my anxiety won't let me. Like, the club does fundraisers and goes to places like labs and shit but I never go. I get to anxious to go to things like that so I don't. Mr. Armstrong knows that both Al and me have anxiety, but he doesn't know anything else. I wish I could go to fundraisers and trips with the club. I really wish I could. But I can't. Winry says that maybe someday, I'll be able to. I don't know if she's right, but I hope she is. It'd be nice to feel like a part of the club rather than like a spectator.

The three of us get to Mr. Armstrong's room and sit down. Winry goes to talk to some other kids while Al nervously gets his things ready for club. He shuffles the brochures anxiously, picking one up and reading it again even though he knows it's fine. The printer didn't screw up, Ling told him everything he needed to know, and he proofed it last night with Ling. The brochures are fine. He knows that. I know that. What Al's doing is trying to get his mind off the anxiety he's feeling. Sometimes focusing on something else can dull the roar of anxiety we constantly feel. It doesn't work all the time, but it's worth a shot, I think. This is something Al cares about and he should see it through even if he's anxious. It's hard, but we have to not allow our anxiety to control us anymore. It's controlled us for years and we can't let it anymore. Somedays it's harder than others but we're trying and that's what counts. Al starts shaking more violently than usual and I sigh. This might be a battle he loses. He might not be able to calm his anxiety and he might not be able to talk. If he can't, I've decided I'll do it. I mean, he and Ling did all the work. They made the brochures and Al's volunteering already. I'm just stepping up to help him get the job done, that's all.

The club doesn't all show up 'til fifteen minutes after the final bell, usually. While we wait, Mr. Armstrong gets some snacks out while Al continues to anxiously mess with everything he'll need for his presentation. Well, "presentation" makes it sound like he's getting a grade or something. But I don't know what else to call it. So "presentation" will have to do, I guess. Winry comes back over after she's done talking to some of the other kids and sits down next to Al. She glances over at all the papers and notes and brochures he's got with him and reaches for a brochure. Al finches, not ready for the sudden movement, but allows Winry to take one from him. She reads through it silently, Al watching anxiously.

"Dang son," she comments, shutting the brochure, "You've done your homework." Al smiles weakly and nods.

"You could say that," Al replies. "Ling helped a lot."

"Still," Winry says, giving the brochure back, "You did a lot of work. I'm sure you'll get people to help out at the shelter."

"We'll see," Al sighs, "I really hope so." I open my mouth to speak but Mr. Armstrong walks over and starts talking before I can,

"It's almost time, Alphonse," he announces. "You ready?" Al swallows nervously but nods.

"Uh, yup," he replies anxiously. "I'm ready."

"Not much of a public speaker, are you?" Mr. Armstrong asks. Al shakes his head and Mr. Armstrong laughs. "The way Edward speaks of you, I always imagined you were. He certainly paints you as a confident public speaker, Alphonse." Al chuckles lightly.

"Brother has a way with words, I guess," Al replies lightly. "I only wish I was good a public speaking."

"You could be," I blurt loudly. Everyone stares at me and I shake my head. "Well, what I mean is you could be with some practice. Not like school practice, though. Like real practice. I don't know. Never mind." Winry smiles at me.

"No, I think you're right," she says. "School forces you to make speeches and that's not a good way to get over a fear of public speaking, I think." I grin; Winry sure knows how to clean up after my word vomit. Al smiles too and nods.

"Well, I'll get the meeting started and I'll call you up when it's time," Mr. Armstrong says.

"O-Okay," Al replies. Mr. Armstrong walks off and clears his throat. The kids all stop talking and take a seat, some of them hurrying to the snacks before sitting down.

"Alright, welcome to the final meeting for the semester," Mr. Armstrong booms. It's funny; usually people with loud, commanding voices freak me out. There's a reason I can't stand Officer Mustang. Well, beyond all the other reasons, that is. I get terrified when he speaks. He's got a naturally loud voice and I don't know. It's freaky. But I never get panicky around Mr. Armstrong. Sure, he can be a bit much to handle but his voice never scares me. I don't know why. It could be the circumstances of when we meet. I met Mr. Armstrong in school, a safe place. I met Officer Mustang the day he dragged her away. That has to be it.

"So, we have a couple announcements to get through before one of our own will give a little presentation on disease in animal shelters," Mr. Armstrong goes on. "First, the Illinois Stream Team is going to the Syn River in March for cleaning. You need to be signed up by the last day of finals so if you're interested, let me know ASAP. We'll leave Saturday, March 26 at 8:00 am and lunch will be provided. The next announcement is we'll have a couple trips in March and April to various institutions for research opportunities. In March we'll go to the St. Louis Zoo and Washington University in St. Louis. In April we'll go to U of I and the St. Louis Science Center. Dates are still to be determined so if you're interested, keep these in the back of your mind so you can sign up next semester. That's all I have for you today so without further ado, Alphonse will be telling us about disease in animal shelters."

I look over at Al and watch as his face pales. He swallows hard and stands, his body shaking violently. I quickly glance around the room, watching as every eye lands on my brother. The room stills and I hold my breath. I'm not sure what Al's gonna do. With all the eyes on him, with everyone watching what he's gonna do, I have a nasty feeling that maybe Al will back out. But worse than that, I have a nasty feeling that Al will throw up or pee and start freaking out in front of everyone. Slowly, though, Al inches toward the front of the room, everyone's heads turning to watch him. Mr. Armstrong pats his back, Al nodding as I assume that Mr. Armstrong is talking to him. I can only guess what they're talking about, though. Maybe Mr. Armstrong is reminding Al that it's okay to back out. I don't know. Mr. Armstrong goes to sit down, Al turning to face the club. Al takes a deep breath and finally begins speaking,

"Uh, hi," Al says, his voice shaking with nervousness. "I…. Well, I…. My name's Al and I hate public speaking." The room feels really tense as a few people laugh awkwardly. Beside me Winry sighs and buries her face in her hands. The room stares at him, Al shaking his head and trying again, "Sorry. Anyway, I've, uh, been volunteering at the county shelter for a couple of weeks. I…. I adopted my cat there so the shelter means a lot to me. Th-The…. The th-thing is, it's not d-doing very w-well. Um, not m-many people are a-adopting animals and th-the sh-shelter's always full. This leads to a v-variety of issues f-for the animals in the sh-shelter. An overcrowded shelter t-tends to have a lot of in-injuries and d-diseases. The county sh-shelter unfortunately h-has a-another factor w-working against it. S-Since it's such a small b-building, it h-has a p-poor ventilation s-system. Th-The air q-quality is poor, leading to more disease." Al fumbles with his papers, obviously trying to get his bearings. The kids watch him, some crossing their arms impatiently as they wait for him to continue. I want to snap at all of them, but keep my mouth shut as Al finally gets ready to talk again.

"S-So, one of the b-biggest issues the sh-shelter faces is f-feline upper respiratory infection. It's a v-virus that's easily spread and highly con-contagious. The sh-shelter loses lots of cats, p-particularly k-kittens, t-to the d-disease every y-year. FURI is m-most c-common in winter months an-and enters the sh-shelter wh-when a sick k-kitten comes in. Wh-While the sh-shelter does h-have funds s-s-set aside for v-vet visits, it's n-not always en-enough to get ev-every cat looked at wh-when they get br-brought in to the sh-shelter. T-To make m-matters worse, the sh-shelter is a non-profit, so th-their funds come d-directly from d-donation and fun-fundraisers. If they m-make a little less th-than usual, th-they can't afford to t-take cats to the v-vet and prevent an o-outbreak." Al pauses and look around. Someone's hand is raised. I cringe and turn back to Al. He blinks rapidly and points at the kid, waiting for the kid's question.

"What are the symptoms of FURI?" The kid asks.

"Oh," Al squeaks, "Well, um, it's kinda like a h-head cold. The cats sn-sneeze, have a r-runny nose, difficulty b-breathing, and runny eyes. If left untreated, it can be f-fatal. There's tr-treatments, but often t-times the shelter v-volunteers don't r-realize the c-cats are s-sick until it's too late. There are so many other an-animals in the shelter, s-so many other problems that a sneezing c-cat is over looked un-until it's too late. Um, dogs face d-disease p-problems, too. Th-They mostly d-deal with ringworm. Wh-While that's not deadly, it's h-hard to contain and makes it im-impossible to ad-adopt out an an-animal until the r-ringworm is g-gone. So, the r-reason I'm t-telling you th-this is 'cause you can h-help. The sh-shelter is always in need of v-volunteers to help clean the living space which reduces disease risk and care for the an-animals. Volunteering d-doesn't take up too much of y-your time, either. All th-they need is t-two hours of your t-time once a week. Th-That's it. An-Another way you c-can help is by sh-showing up to f-fundraising events and t-telling people that it n-needs help. The l-last thing you c-can do is ad-adopt. M-My cat, Picard, w-was adopted from the sh-shelter and he's a r-really good cat. The sh-shelter has lots of g-good animals, just waiting for a home. Thanks." Mr. Armstrong stands and hurries over to stand with Al.

"Thank you, Alphonse," Mr. Armstrong says. "There's a brochure that Alphonse made being passed around the room with more information on what diseases give the shelter the most hassle and when adoption events are. There's also a piece of paper going around where you can write your information down if you're interested in volunteering. It'll go to Ling Yao who's trying to set up a Humane Society club at school to raise awareness for animal shelters as well as preventing cruelty to animals. He's been volunteering at the shelter for years, so he can get you guys connected with the shelter if you're interested. Let's thank Al for telling us about the shelter before moving on." The room echoes a thank you to Al and Al blushes slightly. He smiles and I see his lips move but can't hear what he said. I have a pretty good idea, though. I do know Al better than he knows himself, after all.


	32. Taking Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys like boats?

After science club ended yesterday, some kids came over to ask Al questions about volunteering. At first, Al seemed nervous and I had to step in to answer the questions they had. But after a few minutes, Al was able to answer the questions by himself. I was super proud of him. There was like this air of confidence around Al, one I hadn't seen in him since he was a really little kid. When he was little, Al was a confident person. He knew he was capable and knew how awesome he was. That all changed when she came into our lives. It wasn't just the constant beatings that did it to him. It was her screaming at him, filling his head full of lies. She told him he was stupid, that he was worthless, that he couldn't do anything right, and that no one loved him. Hearing that day after day, year after year, vaporized the confidence Al had as a little kid. So whenever I get a glimpse of it, it really makes me feel like someday, Al will be that way again.

Dad picked us up after science club and the evening was pretty boring. Dada spent the evening grading tests for orgo while we did homework and played video games. Al was tired, though, from having to speak in front of the club so he went to bed early. I tried to hang around downstairs with Dada for a while before deciding I wanted to go to bed, too. So I told Dada goodnight and went upstairs. By the time I got to my room, Al was already sleeping in his bed, Picard curled up next to him. I smiled fondly at them, walking over and squatting down so I could look at Al's face. He always looks so happy when he's asleep. He looks like the boy he should have been. I ruffled Al's hair softly, Picard stirring and staring at me. I smiled at the cat, Picard shaking his head and going back to sleep. After that I stood and got ready for bed, and had the best night's sleep I've had in a while. Last night, I had a nightmare but didn't need to sleep with Dad or Al. I was able to go back to sleep all on my own which is a major accomplishment for me. When I woke up this morning, though, Al was curled up next to me so I guess he didn't have as much luck. But I never heard him screaming or anything so I guess last night went pretty well for him, too.

Now we're sitting in our IHOP eating our pancakes in our booth. Al's talking excitedly about going fishing tomorrow. Dad called Granny yesterday and arranged the whole thing. I'm pretty excited about it, too. It's been forever since we've gone fishing with Granny and Winry. When the abuse ended two years ago, I was really hoping that the fishing trips with Granny and Winry would start happening again. They never did, though. Dada thought that we needed to focus all of our energy on therapy so that's also why we stopped learning martial arts. I guess I understand why Dad thought that we needed to just worry about therapy. We were in a pretty bad place when the abuse ended. I was a kid who cut and loved setting fires while Al was an anxious mess who couldn't even leave the house. Therapy definitely needed to be our top priority. At the same time, though, I wish Dad would have left room for our hobbies. I wish we could have studied martial arts and had fishing weekends like we used to. I think that would have helped us get better sooner. I don't know.

Breakfast ends and before I know it I'm at school. Winry meets us outside like usual and enthuses about the fishing trip as we walk to class. I had a feeling that she'd be super pumped about going fishing with us. Just like we have to sacrifice things and miss out on stuff to get better, our friends and family have had to do the same thing. They have had to sacrifice some stuff and put some stuff on hold while they wait for me and Al to get better. It sucks for everyone in a lot of ways right now.

"So," Winry says, pausing at Al's class, "You guys wanna study this weekend after we go fishing? Finals start on Monday."

"Sure," I reply. "I'm not too worried about anything, though. Classes have been pretty easy." Winry groans at me.

"Easy for you to say, chemistry freak," Winry retorts. "You're a genius. I'm really worried about chemistry. I got a C on the last test and I don't see the final going much better." I smirk at her.

"Well, lucky you," I say, spinning on my heel and heading off toward my class, Al laughing softly. "You've got a genius chemistry freak as a best friend to help you study." I turn back to them, Winry crossing her arms and glaring at me.

"You're hilarious," she grumbles. Al pats her arm.

"It's okay," Al tells her. "I don't laugh at most of Brother's jokes, either." That earns a laugh out of Winry and I playfully glare at my brother.

"You laughed at this one, though," I point out lightly. I put my hands in my pockets and continue, "Guess I'm funnier than you two douche bags wanna admit." Al grins and shrugs.

"Guess so," Al agrees lightly. I walk back over and put a hand on Winry's shoulder.

"Don't worry about chemistry," I tell her. "We don't have that final until Wednesday and I'll help you study for it. You'll do great." Winry grins and tucks her hair behind her hair. It's then I realize her hair's down. She doesn't wear her hair like this very often. I blink, realizing just how much I like it. I like it when her hair's down. She should wear it like that more.

"Thanks, Ed," she says quietly.

"Uh, guys?" Al says nervously. "The bell's gonna ring soon."

"Right," I say. "See you at lunch, Al." Al nods and waves at me.

"See you at lunch," Al echoes. Winry and I wave back and walk away.

"Hey, Ed?"

"Yeah?" I reply.

"I, uh, well…. I…." Winry trails off, blush crawling across her face. My brow furrows.

"What?" I press, anxious to hear what she's trying to say.

"Well, it's just I'm really glad we're going fishing tomorrow," Winry tells me. "When Granny told me, it was like I was a little kid again. I'm glad you're finally in a place where fishing can happen again."

"Me too," I agree. "It's been too long."

"I really hate her somedays," Winry says suddenly, the conversation shifting in a direction I really don't want it to go. I stare at her and Winry continues, "It's her fault we stopped going fishing. It's just not fair." I clench my jaw. What right does Winry have to say how unfair things are? She doesn't have any! It wasn't her getting beaten and screamed at and chained up in the backyard. It wasn't her who was made out to be a liar, who smelled bad all the time, and had to listen to her little brother cry himself to sleep 'cause he was so hungry. That was me! I had to do all that! What the fuck does she know!? Nothing! Winry doesn't know a God damn thing! She shouldn't say shit like that!

"Sorry," Winry says softly, her blue eyes looking away from me. Guess she could see how I felt about her comment just by looking at my face. I don't say anything and she fumbles nervously with her hair. "Sorry," she says again, "I shouldn't have said that."

"It doesn't matter," I grumble, walking into English. "I hate her, too."

"Yeah, I know," Winry says quietly, not meeting my eyes and playing with her hair some more. I watch her do it, all my anger disappearing. God, Winry's so beautiful.

"Hey, Win?" I say anxiously.

"What's up?" Winry replies, her soft blue eyes resting on my face.

"It's just, um, I, uh," I struggle, "I like it when you wear your hair like that." Winry blushes and smiles brightly.

"Thanks," she hums happily. Her smile soothes all my anxious and angry feelings and all I can think about now is going fishing.

The school day flies by, my excitement about fishing rendering me incapable of paying attention. Besides, next week is finals. All my classes are reviewing for finals anyway. We're not covering new material anymore so who cares, really? I really wish that life had a fast forward button. I wanna fast forward through therapy and tonight so it can be tomorrow sooner. I haven't gone fishing in so long. I mean, we went last week but we haven't had an all-day fishing trip since I was six. No…. I wasn't six. I was five. The last real fishing trip we took was in the fall when I started kindergarten. It was me, Dada, Al, Granny, Winry, and her. It was before the abuse started so we had no idea what was in store in just a few months back. We had fun on that trip. It was a whole weekend trip. We left Friday after Winry and I got out of school, took Uncle Urey's boat, and camped by the lake all weekend. I sigh, my back resting up against my locker as I wait for Al. That trip makes me feel both happy and angry at the same time. My good memories from that period between Dad meeting her and the abuse are marred with pain. Even though they're happy, thinking about them makes me want to cry or throw things.

I don't want to remember. I want to erase everything having to do with her. Dr. Hughes says I can't do that. He says we have to remember, even if the memories are bad or hurt us or make us feel scared. He says our experiences, even the horrible ones, shaped us into who we are. That we shouldn't trade them for anything. But I would trade them. I hate who I am. I hate being the kid who has nightmares constantly, who has anxiety stalking him, and who cries all the time. I hate being the kid who still wets the bed, who can't control his feelings, and doesn't have his permit yet because he's too scared to crack open the book. I hate how weak I am; that I can't be strong for my little brother who needs me to be strong for him. If it wasn't for her, for all the bad and horrific memories she caused, I wouldn't be that kid. I'd be normal. I'd be healthy. I'd be happy. Al'd be normal. Al'd be healthy. Al'd be happy. We'd still go on fishing trips. We could go to the mall with Winry. I could go to Ling's parties or to Six Flags with Rose. I could do all the things I wanna do now but can't. So I'd gladly give up who I am so I could be who I could have been.

"Brother?"

I open my eyes and see Al's standing right in front of me. Guess I got lost in thought. He smiles at me and I ask, "Ready?"

"Mmm, yup," he replies with a nod. "I grabbed the stuff I need to study over the weekend. I'm good to go."

"Good work," I praise, my back leaving the locker. Al smiles brightly and I say, "So on a scale of one to ten, how pumped are you for tomorrow?" Al chuckles lightly.

"Uh, how 'bout eleven?" Al laughs. "I'm so excited I can barely contain it!"

"Me, too," I tell him. "It's been so long since we've taken a fishing trip."

"I know," Al replies, opening the front doors. The wall of cold air hits us and I instantly start shivering. God, I hate December. It's so freaking cold and it's barely snowed this year. Usually I can deal with winter if there's snow. If there's snow, I forget about how miserable the cold makes me. But if there's no snow, what's the point?

"Maybe the next time we take a trip," Al goes on, my brain working too slowly to reply to him right away, "We can go all weekend. Or maybe we could do a week-long camping trip like we used to when we were kids! That would be so much fun, Brother!"

"Oh, God, yeah!" I reply excitedly. "I would love to do that! God, we used to go camping all the time! We used to swim so much, Al. When I was a kid, I always wanted to become a swimmer. Maybe even go to the Olympics." We get to the curb, look for Dad's car, and I sigh.

"What?" Al asks.

"It's just…." I trail off, my tongue sliding over my lips as Dad's car inches closer. "I could never do that now." Al blinks and I chuckle awkwardly. "Kind hard to be an Olympic level swimmer with a fake leg."

"Oh," Al breathes, "Guess so." Al shifts on his feet and asks, "Have we even gone swimmer since we were kids?" I shake my head.

"Nope," I answer, Dada's car finally in front of us. "Never went after she came around. Well, not after the abuse started anyway." I open the passenger side door and get in, Al getting into the back.

"How was school, boys?" Dad asks as I shut the door.

"Fine," I reply instantly. "It's been all review lately which makes it easier to focus on fishing tomorrow." Dada laughs.

"Little excited, huh, Ed?" He teases.

"You could say that," I chuckle.

"I'm excited, too, Dada," Al pipes in.

"Oh," I say, Dad turning out of school, "We're gonna study with Winry tomorrow after fishing if that's okay."

"That's fine," Dad answers. "You should study this weekend since finals are next week."

"Finals are next week on campus, right?" I ask. Dad nods.

"Yup," Dada replies. "I have a biochem study session to get ready for on Monday night. Shouldn't go too long but if you're anxious about it, you can sit in my office during the session and study."

"Okay," I reply.

"Hey, Dad?" Al asks.

"Yeah?"

"Is tonight midnight breakfast on campus?" Al questions.

"Oh, yeah, it is," Dad answers. Midnight breakfast is a tradition at the college Dada works at. The week before finals, the college throws a huge party that starts at 10:30pm and goes until midnight. They serve breakfast food and there's always a goofy theme that kids dress up to match. There's live music and games and apparently it's a lot of fun. It sounds like it's fun but it's not something I'm interested in going to right now. But maybe someday, I will.

"Are you going?" Al asks.

"No, I'm not," Dad answers, "But I'm serving breakfast at next semester's midnight breakfast."

"What's next semester's theme?" I ask.

"Star Wars," Dada chuckles. "You boys wanna go? You have all spring semester to decide." Al and I exchange glances before we both shrug.

"Maybe," I answer, Al telling me with his eyes that he's always kinda wanted to go to midnight breakfast, but isn't sure he'll have to courage to go come May. I tell him the same thing.

"Really?" Dad asks. We nod and he goes on, "Well, wouldn't that be something? You boys going to midnight breakfast with me." He chuckles to himself, a smile on his face.

"That makes you happy?" I question teasingly.

"Well, yes," Dada replies like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Of course it does." I grin, Al smiling broadly from the backseat.

We get to therapy and I've decided that I'd much rather do art than do talking today. If I talk, I might just talk about going fishing. If I talk about going fishing, I might talk about how much I missed it. If I talk about how much I missed it, I might just talk about how she's the reason I never got to go. If I talk about how she's the reason I never got to go, I might talk about that last fishing trip I ever took with my family and Winry and that would open up a whole can of worms. That just seems really shitty and I'd rather not. I'd rather not talk about that happy memory. It leads to a bunch of horrifying ones and I just want to avoid it. Dr. Hughes calls us back and I prepare myself for dodging his questions and begging him to just let me color. Coloring my feelings works better than talking anyway if you ask me. Who needs to talk to their therapist? We walk to the office and sit down, my palms sweating as I wait for Dr. Hughes to sit down and get the session started.

"Weekend plans, boys?" Dr. Hughes asks as he sits down in front of us. Wow. Right out of the gate. He's physic, I swear. Geeze. I just wanted to avoid my feelings and color. But Al perks up right away. A big smile spreads across his face and I smirk; I can just let Al do all the talking. Then the can of worms won't get opened and I can just color when Al's done talking. Perks of having an overly excited little brother.

"Yeah!" Al exclaims eagerly. "We're going fishing this weekend with Dada and Granny and Winry! We haven't been since we were little kids so we're pretty excited."

"Your family has a history of fishing trips, right?" Dr. Hughes asks. Al nods and Dr. Hughes goes on, "When was your last fishing trip?" I tense up as Al lowers his face.

"Well, I was four," Al says softly. "Like I said, it's been a while."

"Does that bring up some bad memories for you, Al?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Yeah," Al replies. I want to tell Al to shut up, to drop the conversation, but I can't. I have those dumb bubbles in my throat, the bubbles that trap my words someplace I can't get to. Al takes a deep breath and goes on, "That last trip we took was a couple months after my dad met her. We were happy then. We didn't know what would happen after they got engaged. So even though fishing makes me happy, it makes me a little sad, too."

"How about you, Ed?" Dr. Hughes addresses. "How does fishing make you feel?" I swallow nervously, twisting my shirt anxiously in my hands.

"I, uh, it's…." I stop, unable to say anything. Dr. Hughes stares expectantly at me and I know I have to try again. I inhale sharply and try again; "Same as Al, I think."

"I see," Dr. Hughes says, leaning back in his chair. "Wanna elaborate on that?"

"Not really," I say instantly. He blinks at me and I say, "Not really in the mood to talk about anything."  
"That's alright, I understand," Dr. Hughes tells me. "Anything you want to do instead?"  
"Color," I reply in under a second. Dr. Hughes smiles at me and nods.

"Alright," he says. "How about you, Al?" Al smiles weakly at him.

"Paint, please," Al tells him. Dr. Hughes stands up and goes to get what we need and Al and I briefly talk with our eyes. He asks me if I'm okay. I tell him I am but that I just don't wanna talk about stuff. Dr. Hughes comes back and gives us what we need for art therapy. He watches us as we work, formulating things to ask us no doubt. I really like Mr. Hughes, don't get me wrong. But when he starts getting all therapist-y I get annoyed sometimes. I wanna hide from my feelings and bad memories. Just let me, okay?

"What are you painting, Al?" Dr. Hughes asks and I sigh in relief. He's not gonna talk to me. I can just keep coloring my formless blob and ignore all my anxious thoughts and bad memories.

"A largemouth bass," Al replies with a grin. "I hope that I can catch one tomorrow."

"Are you good at fishing?" Dr. Hughes asks and I groan internally. I know what he's doing. He's doing what he calls "opening the door for conversation". He does this a lot, especially when we're doing art therapy. He'll ask us questions that seem unrelated to anything but then drop a bomb on us. He gets us talking about stuff we like before asking us something harsh or hard to talk about. That's why I hate when he gets therapist-y.

"I guess so," Al answers. "I mean, I like it so even if I'm not good at it, I like doing it."

"That's good," Dr. Hughes says. "It's good to have a hobby, even if you're not talented or good at it." Al chuckles sadly and shakes his head. I notice his eyes get sad; the light of his eyes when he's excited or happy is gone now. "What's the matter?"

"It's just…. Well, after the abuse started, I felt like I could fix the family. Right before my fifth birthday, I asked Dada and her if we could go fishing soon. Dad said sure and left for work but she…. She told me there was no point in going fishing when I sucked at it so bad." Al shakes his head, his lip quivering slightly. "Guess I'm not good at it after all." I blink, silent tears running down my brother's face. Al tries to rub his face, get the tears to stop, but he can't.

"Al," Dr. Hughes says gently, "She lied to you. Even if you aren't very good at fishing, there is a point in going. You like to do it, that's the best reason to do anything."

"Fishing used to be fun," I blurt. "But now, the thought of going makes me both excited and anxious. All I can think about is that last trip, then what she told Al just a few months later. About how we sucked at it, so what was the damn point? Why would she take two kids who sucked at everything to do anything? She wouldn't. So by the time Dada got home that day, we had done something bad and fishing was never brought up again."

"So now even happy fishing memories hurt, don't they?" Dr. Hughes asks. We both nod and Dr. Hughes goes on, "Boys, there's a way to separate what happened after your dad got engaged from those happy memories."

"How?" Al croaks, tears running down his face.

"Erase her from that last fishing memory," Dr. Hughes instructs. We stare blankly at him and he smiles at us. "Close your eyes." We quickly exchange glances but do it. I close my eyes, focusing on Al's labored breathing beside me.

"Now," Dr. Hughes says gently, "Think about that last fishing trip in your mind. Picture it and hold on to it. Got it?" I nod, the image of Lake Liore in my head. I can see the water rippling beneath the boat, Winry laughing loudly as Dada holds her upside down. I can hear the snap of a beer can, Granny sitting down and taking a drink. I can feel Al run up against my back as…. As she chases him. I shivering, Al's happy laughter sending a chill down my spine.

"Now, take her out," Dr. Hughes instructs. "Imagine that she was never there. Force her out of that memory. Tell her that she's not welcome where you go fishing. Remind her that she doesn't have power over you anymore. If it helps, say something out loud, but make your memory yours again." I nod again, picturing her chasing Al on Uncle Urey's boat and suddenly I'm there. I'm there as I am now, watching my younger self stare happily at the water. I follow behind her, finding the courage to confront her. Al pauses, glancing behind him and his brow furrowing.

"Dada?" Al asks me, obviously confused. She turns, too, her cold blue eyes scanning me. She recognizes me, my younger self looking on curiously.

"Well," she muses harshly, "Look who's here. The fuck up son of my darling husband." Al gasps loudly, his hand covering his mouth.

"Tha's a bad word, Nessa," he points out. She ignores him. She walks toward me, a toothy grin spreading across her face. Tiny hands grip my clothing and I look down. My younger self is hiding behind me, shivering violently.

"Help," he whimpers.

"Don't worry," I tell him. "She can't hurt you here." I take a deep breath and stare her down. I have a sudden burst of courage. I'm not gonna be scared. I'm gonna do what Dr. Hughes told me to do.

"Worthless little –"

"Shut up." I cut her off and continue, "You don't belong here. I don't want you in this memory. This is my head and I don't want you here! So leave!" At first, I'm scared it didn't work. She's staring at me, but soon, she begins to disappear. Little by little she dissolves into the air, little me watching. Slowly, his little hands release my clothes and soon, she's completely gone. Al blinks and hurries over to younger me, the memory continuing like it should. The only difference is she's not there. She's not lifting Al on to the side of the boat to look at the water, Dad is. It's just Dad and Granny. That's all. That memory isn't bad anymore. It's good. It's a good memory. Fishing is good again. All because I allowed Dr. Hughes to talk me through my feelings.

"How's that memory now, boys?" Dr. Hughes asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glance up at him and smile.

"It's good," I say. "She's not there anymore. It's just Dad and Granny. Fishing is good again."

"Al?" Dr. Hughes prompts.

"I…. I've never…never beaten her before," Al begins softly. "And I've never felt like I can control my feelings. Not after everything that happened. But…. But today…today I could. I took control. I told her it's my memory, not hers. I told her she has no right to make fishing a bad memory for me. And I got rid of her. I did it."

"Good," Dr. Hughes replies. "Now, you boys can't do this to all your memories with her in it. You can't erase the pain or what happened to you. Even if you forced her out, your mind would just put someone or something in her place because you can't change what happened. But you can tell her that your feelings are yours and that your mind is yours. You can tell her that she doesn't control you anymore." I swallow hard and say,

"It felt good, you know?" I tell him softly. "It felt good to, like, tell her off. It felt good to win." Dr. Hughes nods.

"I do," he replies. "Sometimes it feels good to tell people off, even if it's not for real. Even if it's just in your head, it feels good to tell someone off who hurt you."

"I like winning," Al adds quietly. "Makes me feel like I can actually do something right."

"That means you boys really are taking the steps to get better," Dr. Hughes tells us. "When doing something like this makes you feel good and not guilty or anxious, you've improved. You've gotten better. I hope that encourages you. I know you've dealt with feeling like you've made no progress lately. I hope this reminds you that you really have."

"I think…. I think it has," I tell him with a weak smile, "I think it has."

"Can I paint more?" Al asks. "I wanna finish this painting before our session's over." Dr. Hughes nods.

"Be my guest."


	33. Fishing Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I died, sorry. But I'm back so enjoy this chapter! Also, Paninya exists in this world. Yay!

On Saturdays, I usually like to sleep in late. Like, if I'm up before ten my dad will ask if the world's ending or something. But today, I don't care how early it is. Today, we're going fishing. The sun's barely rising as my family gets everything ready for a day at the lake. Al's quiet but not because he doesn't wanna go. He's just kinda tired. But he'll perk up soon. He always does. Poor Al didn't sleep well last night. It doesn't matter that we have plans or that we're getting up early. No, the nightmares don't stop, not for anything. It's just how our life is. That's the way our life's been for years. The nightmares and screaming never have taken a back seat to the fun things we wanna do. Just like the anxiety or the panic or the intrusive thoughts or the self-doubt. None of that ever goes away. Someday, it'll get better and we'll be able to ignore it better. But for now, we're stuck. As we eat, I can tell Al's starting to wake up a bit. He's smiling as Dad sips coffee, Picard purring near his feet. I actually like when things are quiet. I like when things slow down for a bit and I can just be with someone. No talking, no music, no movies. Just being with them. Just hearing them breathe and knowing they're nearby. Just sitting near one another and feeling safe because I know I can say anything I want. I like to enjoy silences. The world is really loud, though, so I don't get to just sit with people very often. But when I do, I treasure it.

After we eat we finish packing the car. We don't talk much as we work, but that's okay. We've never talked much when we go fishing. That's not what fishing's for. Fishing's for just being with people. It's relaxing. It's a break from the crazy, noisy world that makes me tired. It's for just enjoying the presence of people I love. I mean, we talk a little once we get started, but we've never talked much while fishing. Mama used to say that fishing was nature's way of getting Al to rest his voice. I smile at the thought, pausing. Al used to talk all the time. The cooler I'm holding lowers to the ground as I think about Al talking nonstop. Mom used to laugh all the time while he talked 'cause half the time he talked nonsense. But that was okay. Dad says that Mom just liked the sound of our voices. So when I'd tell stories or Al'd talk all day long, it never annoyed anyone. It made them happy. I remember after everything went down two years ago, Al didn't talk much. He just was kinda there, silently taking in everything around him. For a while, it seemed like Al would be that way forever. It really stressed Dada out. He missed Al's voice and was worried that Al would never talk again. So one night over dinner, Dad told us something about Mom. He said that while Mom was getting chemo, she was in a lot of pain. But the sound of our voices made her feel better. It was one of the only things that helped somedays. Dada told Al that our voices and what we had to say was what got Mom through her treatment. After that, Al made an effort to talk more. I pick the cooler back up, Al telling Dad something. I don't know what he said, but it doesn't matter. I'm just glad Al talks now.

Once the car's ready to go, we go to Winry's. She and Granny are all set to go, putting their stuff in the back with ours and getting in the car. Granny sits up front with Dada while Winry sits in the back with Al and me. She's visibly excited and her happy chatter helps me and Al to wake up. On our way to the lake, Granny asks what the plan for studying is. Winry tells her that we were planning on studying after we go fishing so Granny suggests we stop before dinner time. She also requests that we study at our place because for us, studying usually ends in loud laughing and Granny will be cranky after fishing. Dada laughs but agrees to host the study session. He says Winry can come over whenever for studying since this week is finals week. He even promises to pick up some junk food for her and that seems to really make her happy. Winry loves junk food. I don't get how she isn't on My 600lb Life the way she eats, honestly.

Finally, we get to the lake. Al practically leaps out of the car, hurrying to help Dada and Granny unpack the car. Winry and I help, too, carrying chairs and coolers to the edge of the lake. We set up our site and I briefly mourn the loss of Uncle Urey's boat. Granny sold it a couple years after Dada married her. We weren't going fishing as a group anymore and she didn't like just taking herself and Winry on the boat. So she sold it. She told Dada later that was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do. Selling one of her last ties to her son was hard but she couldn't justify keeping the boat when she wasn't using it anymore. Just another consequence of the abuse, I guess. I flop down in my chair, Al handing my pole to me. I get it ready, Al chattering loudly in my ear. I smile weakly, Al putting a wad of bread on his hook instead of bait or a lure. He swears up and down that works better. I don't know if it really does, but there's no convincing Al. He thinks it works better so in his mind it does. He's always been like that.

"Ally," Winry laughs, pulling her hair back, "Won't the bread break apart in the water?"

"No," Al replies, casting his line, "It's a big enough piece that it won't."

"It doesn't work like that!" Winry insists lightly.

"Does so!" Al cries. "I'm telling you – this is the best way to catch fish! Bread attracted that big one I caught last week!"

"Yeah, okay," Winry huffs, casting her line.

"Kids," Granny groans, "Let's not talk for a bit. I've found silence attracts fish better than anything else."

"You're just cranky, you old hag," I tease.

"You'd know all about that, you grouchy, stunted midget," Granny counters, opening a beer.

"Shut up!" I cry. "You're only, like, three feet tall!"

"So you're only a foot taller than me, then," Granny snickers, taking a sip.

"Now, you two," Dada interjects before I can reply, "It's too early for the two of you to fight. I like Pinako's silent plan." Al blinks before shrugging.

"Well, okay, but I promise that bread works better than being quiet," Al says, getting comfortable. Winry laughs again, but doesn't say anything. She puts a hat on and shuts her eyes, waiting for what everyone hopes for when they go fishing – a bite.

Since it's gonna be quiet for a while, I decide to do some reading. I brought a couple books, but I think I'll read the driving handbook Dada bought me a while ago. I've read a few pages, but haven't read very much. Life's been crazy lately and I've had too much to deal with so reading the handbook hasn't been a priority. Even though driving makes me kinda anxious, I do wanna learn. I think it'd be cool to drive. I could go places with Al whenever we wanted without having to ask Dada or Granny to give us a ride. We could get food during lunch and take trips to Chicago or something if I drove. So learning to drive's important to me, even if it makes me anxious. Dr. Hughes says it's important to do the things that make you anxious 'cause if you do, those things won't make you anxious one day.

I open the book, unfold the page that was keeping my place, and start reading. I'm always surprised by how many strange rules are involved with driving. Like, passing in the right lane is bad but passing in the left lane is good. Why? Hell if I know. I don't think anyone knows, honestly. I think it's probably one of those stupid rules that got put in place a long time ago when horses were more common than cars. That's the weirdest thing about the driving book, I think. Some rules and laws get explained to me while other ones, typically the weird-ass ones, get no explanation what so ever. It reminds me of that book of weird state laws Ling had in middle school. There was one about not carrying an ice cream cone in your pocket and that one always made me laugh. I remember the first time Ling showed that book to me, I got really confused. I didn't understand how there were so many strange laws in the country that no one knew about. So over diner, I asked Dada and he told me that he thinks most of those are made up and based on strange newspaper headlines or something. I always thought that was funny, but I'm not sure about his explanation, though.

"What are you reading?" Al asks after a while. I glance over and flash the book at him.

"Just the driving book," I reply. "Hoping to get my permit before my birthday."

"That'd be neat," Al agrees. He frowns then says, "Then you'd have to get a phone, I guess."

"Any idea what kind of phone you want?" Winry asks, looking over.

"Probably an iPhone," I say. "I mean, I like Dad's phone but I like yours better."

"Yeah, the iPhone is more user friendly, I think," Winry tells me. "I've taken them both apart out of curiosity and looked at the software they both run on. It's funny 'cause the Mac operating system is usually more confusing to people than Windows, but the iPhone tends to be easier to use."

"I'd ask why, but it's probably a bunch of Star Trek style techno-babble that I won't understand," I laugh.

"Yeah, it is," Winry chuckles. "You might be smart, but the techy, mechanical stuff is all me."

"That's cool," I shrug. "I'll take chemistry over circuits any day."

"Chemistry freak," Winry teases, adjusting her line.  
"Crazy gear-head," I mumble with a smirk. I turn to Al and ask, "Any bites?" Al shakes his head.

"No, not yet," Al replies. "I need to see if the bread's gone soon so I can put more on my hook if it's gone."

"How about you, Al?" I ask. "When the time comes, what kind of phone will you get?"

"Whatever you get, probably," Al tells me. "I don't really want one, but I know Dada will make me when I learn to drive. If you get an iPhone, that's what I'll get so you can teach me how to use it."

"Ally," I sigh fondly, "An iPhone is basically the same as your iPad."

"Oh," Al breathes. "I guess that it would be."

"You're funny, Al," Winry laughs. Al blushes and starts pulling his line in.

"Thanks," he mumbles, clearly embarrassed. Al really hates being put on the spot, even when it's just us. He stands and walks over to the water. He examines his hook and Winry shakes her head.

"I really don't think the bread thing works," Winry tells me.

"Me either but try telling Al that," I laugh. "His heart's set on it." Winry smiles weakly.

"It always has been," she replies. "It's always been bread."

"Yeah," I say. I chuckle and say, "I remember the first time he did it. It was when Dada and Mom thought Al was big enough to learn to fish. They got him one of those tiny little kid poles and he was so excited. Mama helped him get it set up and Dad showed him how to put bait on the hook. Once the bait was on, he handed it to Al. Al stared at the worm for a minute before walking over to our cooler. He pulled out a sandwich, took it apart and ripped the bait off the hook. Dada asked what he was doing and Al simply said, 'Fishes don't like worms, Daddy.' and put some bread on his hook." Winry laughs and nods.

"I remember, I remember," Winry says. "He's always been a silly, weird kid."

"Wouldn't want him any other way," I say as Al puts another big wad of bread on the hook. Al casts his line and returns to his seat, a smile on his face.

"The fish are biting," Al tells me eagerly. "The bread was all gone when I checked!"

"That's good, Al," I say. "Hopefully you'll get a catch."

"One of you kids better get one," Granny barks nearby. "I'd like to bake some fresh fish for supper."

"That would be lovely, Pinako," Dada says.

"Don't worry, Granny," Al says cheerfully. "It won't be long before I get a fish. I have a good feeling."

"A catfish would be preferred, Ally," Granny teases.

"I'll do my best," Al replies, silence falling on us once again.

Reading is always nicest when it's quiet. I get really distracted when I'm reading but it's noisy. I wanna listen to what everyone's saying. I wanna be engaged in the conversation. I wanna see everything that's going on. So when it's quiet, I can read better. I've always liked reading, I just have a hard time slowing my brain down long enough to actually read. That's another reason I like it when it's quiet. It slows my anxious brain down long enough to actually enjoy things like reading. It helps my heart to beat like a normal person and in those short, quiet moments, I feel normal. I'm reading a section on construction zones as my line pulls a bit. I shut the book and lean forward, waiting to see if it's a false alarm or if I actually have a bite. My stomach growls and I check my watch. It's noon so I think I'll eat after I decide what's going on with my line. It pulls again and I decide that I have a bite. I start to reel it in, Al glancing over at me and smiling.

"Ed's got a bite!" Al cheers. "Ed's got a bite!" Al's line pulls, too, and he yells happily. "I have one, too!"

"Bring 'em home, kids," Granny instructs, standing. "I'd watch but it's lunch time."

"Wait up," Winry calls after Granny, "I could eat." She puts her pole down and hurries after Granny. Dada stands and walks over, watching me and Al as we reel in the fish.

"Did the bread attract your bite, Ally?" Dad chuckles.

"Uh, yeah!" Al replies. "It works!"

"So," Dad asks, putting a hand on Al's shoulder, "Which one of you has that catfish Granny wants?"

"Me, all the way," I say, pulling as the line pulls the other way. "It's got some fight in it. Totally a catfish."

"Brother's probably right," Al says. "I'd be happy with anything." Al pulls again, a fish dragging up on to the muddy shore. Al hurries over and pulls it into the air, a smile plastered on his face.

"Good work, honey!" Dad praises, Al holding the fish up.

"It's a bass!" Al cries happily, my fish finally giving up. I pull it in, cheering silently to myself.

"Hello, Mr. Catfish," I greet, pulling the fish off the ground. I turn to Dad and say, "Check it out, Dada. Got me a catfish." Dada smiles proudly.

"Good job, Ed!" Dad praises happily, pulling his phone out. "Okay, kids, I want a picture. Get close." I side step toward Al and we hold up our fish. Dada snaps a picture of us and lowers his phone.

"That's a good one," Dad tells us. "Okay, let's get these guys in the cooler so we can eat. You boys hungry?"  
"Starved, actually," I reply.

"Yeah, I'm hungry," Al says.

"You're always hungry," I laugh, Al shaking his head.

"Not always, Brother," Al corrects. "I'm not hungry when I'm anxious or something."

"Yeah, but you have the appetite of a linebacker or something," I tease. "You eat. A lot."

"Not as much as Winry," Al says as we finally make it over to Granny Winry.

"You boys talking about me?" Winry asks, crossing her arms. "All good things, I hope."

"Just your ravenous appetite," I inform her, grabbing a sandwich. Winry rolls her eyes.

"I don't eat that much," Winry defends breathily, though I can tell she's not really offended. "Al's the one who eats."

"You eat more," Al argues with a laugh. "Like, way more." I smirk and sit down on the cooler, Winry glaring at me.

"How many sandwiches have you had?" I ask, Winry's eye brows going farther down toward her eyes.

"Like, I don't know, four," Winry mumbles, sitting down next to Al. "Doesn't matter."

"Lighten up, Win," I laugh loudly. I take a bite and Winry shrugs.

"I hate having brothers," she mutters, a smile on her face.

"C'mon," Al chuckles, pushing her lightly with her shoulder. "You know you love us." Winry blushes, her eyes locking on to me for a brief moment, before she looks away again. I smirk as she awkwardly puts hair behind her hair.

"Yeah," she says softly. "I do."

"Kids, don't get sappy," Granny barks at us. "We've got a solid five hours of fishing left and I don't want to do it with a group of sniveling kids." Dad chuckles and shakes his head.

"Sniveling? These kids? I don't believe it for a second, Pinako." Dad says. We all laugh, Granny shaking her head.

"All kids snivel, Hohenheim," Granny snorts. "It's in their nature." Dada takes a bite and shakes his head.

"Not my boys," Dad says after swallowing. "Not Ed and Al. Never known them to snivel."

"Well," Granny sighs, putting her water down. "I suppose not." Winry stands, stretches, and throws her trash into the bag we brought.

"I'm going back to the water," she announces. "I've had enough sappy talk for one day, thanks." I stand suddenly, hand Al my trash, and hurry after her.

"Wait up," I say. "I'll walk with you."

"Okay," Winry replies, Al watching me with wide eyes.

"Meet up with us when you're done eating, Ally," I instruct, walking off.

"Okay," Al calls, my back turned to him.

"Brothers, huh?" I ask, Winry stiffening slightly.

"What?" Winry questions huffily.

"You said you had brothers," I clarify. "Actually, you said you hated having them." Winry blushes, her face almost completely red.

"Well, I, uh, you know," Winry stammers, clearly embarrassed. "You and Al, you know, have always been like brothers to me. I do like having brothers, though, even if we're not really related."

"But…." I trail off, biting my lip. I want to ask her what she felt about maybe just having one brother and a boyfriend, but my words get caught in the back of my throat by the bubbles.

"Yeah," she sighs. "Look, Ed, I like you. Like, really like you, but right now I just…. I think we should wait, you know? If it were to fall apart, I wouldn't want to be something that hurt you. So for now, keep being my brother and in a few months…maybe…maybe we could, I don't know, go out." I blink, a soft sigh escaping my lips. So…. So she wants it, too? It's not just me? She wants to date? I swallow, my cheeks getting hot.

"Wow," I say stupidly. "Okay. Um, well, sure. I mean, if you still wanna in a few months."

"I will," Winry says, sitting down in her chair. "We can go to the spring dance together. You know, that lame one they have for underclassmen who can't go to prom." I laugh and nod.

"I hate dances but it'd be bearable with you I guess," I tell her.

"Course it would," Winry laughs. "I'll bring a bag that we can sneak food out of. It'll be the bomb."

"Who even says that anymore?" I ask with a chuckle.

"All the cool kids," Winry says. I smile, my eyes drifting toward the water. I love Winry. I do. It's smart to wait, though, I think. I'll hopefully be more stable in a few months and dating will be a real possibility. But even if it isn't, I'm glad to have someone like her in my life.

We fish until five o'clock before packing up and heading to our house. Granny's gonna bake the fish we caught while Winry teaches Dada to make mashed potatoes and some other side things. After we eat, Granny and Dad will drink and play cards while we study. Hopefully Granny won't drink too much or she won't be able to drive them home. We get home, unpack the car, and hurry into the kitchen. While Granny prepares the fish and the potatoes boil, I quiz Winry on chemistry while she and Al get some glazed carrots started. Winry is hesitant at first, unsure of her answers but soon she gets in the groove. Al praises her whenever she gets the right answers and Dada even starts to help her study as we work. I know how worried Winry was about her chem final but I know she'll be fine. We'll study again tomorrow and the days leading up to the final and she'll be fine. We'll study for the finals we have Monday after dinner. But for now, it's a chemistry cram session.

We finish cooking and can finally eat. Dinner took, like, an hour to make but that's okay. Granny's baked fish is worth it. We haven't had it in so long. Since it's been forever since we've gone fishing as a group, it's been forever since we've had Granny's baked fish. We eat, Granny laughing as Winry tries to study and talk to everyone at the same time. When we're done, everyone helps clear the table and we move up to me and Al's room. Winry and I have English and history finals Monday and Al has calculus and English on Monday. So while we're not in the same class, we can still help each other study. Even when I was a freshman and Al was in eighth grade, he still helped me and Winry study for finals. He's really good at keeping us focused and redirecting our conversation when it gets off track. I mean, after a while Al breaks down and joins our giggling fits. But for a while, he can keep us semi-sane so studying can actually happen.

"What was Macbeth's motivation throughout the play?" Al asks, Winry throwing her head back and groaning.

"I'm so tired," she whines. "Who cares?"

"How the hell do they expect us to remember a semester of reading for a two-hour freaking test!?" I cry, throwing my stuff. "This is bull shit!"

"You're just frustrated, Brother," Al says calmly. "You know the answers. What was Macbeth's motivation?" Winry groans again and I smirk.

"My balls," I say, Winry cracking up. "His motivation was to get the opportunity to fondle my junk, obviously."

"Brother," Al groans.

"Obviously," Winry agrees in between laughing. "You have such a magnificent body."

"I know, I know," I say, waving my hand around. "Macbeth just wanted a piece of this."

"Ha ha," Al says, obviously not amused. "Why don't you try writing that on your final. I'm sure your teacher would find it hilarious."

"If she didn't have such a stick up her butt she probably would," I laugh.

"Oh, God," Winry groans. "I hate this so much. Studying's the worst. It sucks butt."

"Guess what else sucks butt, Al," I say, trying to get him to join in.

"Brother," he replies, a smile on his face.

"C'mon, guess," I egg on, Al laughing lightly.

"Macbeth?" Al asks and I cheer loudly.

"We have a winner!" I scream. "Macbeth sucks butt! Congratulations, Alphonse!"

"God, Shakespeare is so pretentious, am I right?" Al says loudly, Winry and I laughing loudly and nodding along.

"The most pretentious douche bag in all history," Winry agrees, doing a snooty fake British accent.

"Oh, absolutely," I say, standing up. "Thought the world of himself, that bloke did."

"What bullocks that is!" Al cries, outraged. "He couldn't write a real poem if he was at gunpoint! The poser!" We laugh loudly, someone knocking at our door.

"Yeah?" I ask, the door opening.

"If you're calling William Shakespeare a douche bag, it's probably time to stop," Dada says, coming inside. We all laugh and Winry starts packing up her stuff.

"Granny okay to drive, Dad?" I ask with a laugh.

"I wouldn't let her drink that much, Ed," Dad chuckles.

"Well, that's good," Winry laughs, putting her backpack on. "I might have my permit, but I don't think it's legal for me to drive with an intoxicated adult in the car."

"Yeah, pretty sure that's bad news," I agree.

"Bad news bears," Al pipes up, sitting down on the bed.

"Mind if I come over again tomorrow, Uncle Vic?" Winry asks.

"Sure," Dad replies. "That's fine with me, Winry. You kids have to study."

"Oh, Ed," Winry says, "Paninya wanted to study with me tomorrow so I was wondering if it's cool if she tagged along tomorrow." I make a face and Winry goes on, "I mean, if it's not, we can study at my place instead, but, you know."

"Uh, yeah, that's…cool," I say. I glance over at Al and say, "You?"

"Sure," Al chirps, and I'm really surprised. He's not even phased by it. Guess Ling coming over broke the ice and now Al's cool with anyone coming over. I don't know. "I like Paninya," Al goes on. "She's super funny."

"She is a riot," Winry agrees. "So you're all okay with her joining me?"  
"That's perfectly fine," Dad tells her. "I need to actually meet more of your friends. I barely know any of them."

"Great!" Winry says happily. "I'll text her and let her know."

"Sweet," I say. Surprisingly, I'm not anxious about Paninya coming over. Even though we haven't known her long (she moved to our town when I was in eighth grade) she is my friend. And maybe…. Maybe Ling coming over broke the ice for me, too. Maybe now that I know that I'm okay with people coming over, that stepping through that door won't tell them all the things I've been too afraid to tell them for years, I'm not as anxious about it as I would have been just a month ago. And maybe, just maybe, I actually have made progress. Even though it feels like I haven't, days like today remind me that I have. I went fishing today. Paninya's coming over tomorrow. I didn't have a breakdown or panic today. And it's when that happens, when I have a really good day, that I remember just how far Al and I have come.


	34. Dada's Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dada has a date that Ed completely forgot about. #finalsweek

I had actually forgotten that Dada had a date this weekend. I think he forgot, too. With the fishing and the studying and the Paninya coming over, it kinda slipped everyone's minds. It wasn't until Winry brought up dinner a few minutes ago that we remembered that Dad has a dinner date with Lucy. It's four in the afternoon now, but Dad has to take us to Winry's so he can get ready for his date. We're all gonna go to Winry's for dinner and then keep studying after that. Before we remembered that Dad had a date tonight, the studying thing was going better than I anticipated. I figured since Paninya was going to be over, there'd be way more laughing than there'd be studying. To my surprise, though, she was totally ready to get to work when she and Winry got here this morning before lunch. We've studied for practically every final we have this week, but we've mostly studied for the ones we have tomorrow, obviously. It'd be dumb not to. Now Dad's running around like a mad person trying to decide what needs to be done first. Does he want to pick out his outfit or drop us off first? We all sit in the living room and watch my dad pace as he decides what he wants to do.

"Uncle Victor," Winry begins with a chuckle, "We can help pick out something for you to wear if you want."  
"You would?" Dada asks, Paninya giggling at him softly.

"Of course," Winry replies, elbowing Paninya in the ribs. "Not a problem. You look super stressed."

"Oh, I am," Dad tells her. "The boys'll tell you – I really like this woman."

"Go pick something out and bring it down," Winry instructs. "We'll give it a thumbs up or down. Majority rules, obviously."

"Right, okay," Dad says, hurrying off.

"Your dad's kind of a spaz," Paninya laughs.

"Eh," I say, waving my hand around. "He just really likes her, that's all. Awkwardness runs in the family when it comes to dating."

"Yeah," Al continues, "Mom used to say that it took Dad three months to even talk to her for the first time. He'd always wait around the coffee shop on campus before her first class, hoping to have the courage to talk to her."

"When'd your mom die again?" Paninya asks.

"I was four," I answer, "Al was three. We were really little when she died."

"I get that," Paninya sighs, leaning back in her chair. Paninya's parents died in a car crash when she was four or five. She lost both her legs in that crash as well as an unborn sibling. After that she bounced around foster homes before winding up here. She used to shop lift and stuff when she first was placed her, but soon her foster dad, Mr. Dominic, helped her to see she could feel better without doing stuff like that. That's why I used to set fires and cut myself. I needed to feel better and those were the things that made me feel better, even if it was temporary. But with Dad, Al and Dr. Hughes' help, I learned the same lesson Mr. Dominic taught her. I learned how to deal with my bad feelings and express them in a better way. Actually, Paninya and I have more in common than she knows. She doesn't know I used to set fires….

"You guys ever feel like bad kids 'cause you can't remember a lot about your mom?" She asks, breaking me from my train of thought. Al's eyes get sad and he looks away, a small nod escaping from him.

"Yeah," Al says quietly. "I don't remember a lot about her and it makes me feel like a bad son sometimes."

"I feel that way, too, but you gotta remember that's just your brain tricking you," Paninya tells him. "You're a great son and a great person. Our brains just trick us into thinking the worst sometimes."

"Okay," Dad announces, ending the conversation. He holds up two separate suits and says, "What do you think? Too dressy?"

"What number date is this, Mr. Elric?" Paninya asks.

"It's the second date," Dad replies.

"Dress to impress, then," Paninya tells him. "It's not too dressy for a second date."

"Aren't you supposed to look nice on dates, Dada? How can you be too dressy?" Al asks.

"Well, Al, there's a whole code for dating that I've never been very good at," Dad tells him with a chuckle. "Apparently if you dress too casual or you dress too nice, you can send the wrong message to the person."

"Oh," Al breathes. "That's a lot more complicated than I thought."

"Which one to you kids like?" Dad asks us. "This one with the blue shirt or this one with the red shirt?"

"Blue," Winry says as I say,

"Red." We glare at each other, Winry pursing her lips the way she always does when she's about to act like a stuffy know-it-all.

"He should go with blue," Winry huffs. "It's a cool, winter color and that's best for this time of year. Red is a summer color, duh."

"Oh, shut up!" I cry. "Red is the color of passion! Shouldn't he want to look passionate and interesting instead of cold and boring?"  
"Blue isn't boring, chemistry freak!" Winry yells.

"Is too, gear-head!" I argue as Al stands up. He walks over to Dad and runs his finger down the front of each shirt.

"The blue is softer than the red," Al says, interrupting my argument with Winry. "If I were you, I'd wear the shirt that's most comfortable and that's the blue one."

"Want to help me pick a tie out, Ally?" Dada asks and Al nods softly. "Come on, then," Dad says, taking Al's hand. "Let's go, honey." Dad leads Al out of the room and I sigh.

"Damn," I grumble. "Al hates when we fight. Shouldn't have yelled. Sorry." Winry shrugs.

"It's fine," Winry says. "I overreacted. Guess all that studying made me cranky."

"It always does," Paninya comments, stretching.

"Does not," Winry mumbles, crossing her arms.

"'Sides," Paninya goes on, "The two of you have to argue when you hang out. It's like a law, or something."

"Guess so," I chuckle. "But it makes Al anxious and I shouldn't do it."

"Why?" Paninya asks, my heart freezing. Not good. Not good. She asked why and to tell her the truth would be to tell her things that I'm not quite ready to tell anyone yet. I shake my head, my tongue running across my dry lips and Winry laughs nervously.

"Al's just an anxious person, Pan," Winry says, covering for me. I probably look visibly shaken but if she talks to Paninya, it'll distract her from me and give me time to calm down. I try to take deep breaths as Winry talks to Paninya, but find it's too difficult. My lungs feel like there's holes in them. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. Trisha Elric. Alphonse Elric. 1914 Central Court. Pinako Rockbell. Winry Rockbell. 1989 Central Drive. Lamby. Martial Arts. Chemistry. Coloring. Science. Picard. Video games. Sleeping late. Fishing. The Beatles. I take a deep breath, my lungs finally capable of holding air. Winry's laughing at something Paninya said and I wipe sweat off my brow. Thank God Winry was here otherwise I'd have to come up with some bullshit excuse to tell Paninya and she deserves better than that. All my friends do. I'm just not ready to tell them about the abuse yet.

"You kids ready?" Dada asks, entering the room again with Al.

"Did Ally pick out a nice tie for you to wear, Uncle Vic?" Winry asks.

"He did a great job," Dad says, Al smiling happily beside him. "Picked out a nice tie that matches my shirt."  
"Dada's gonna look great, tonight," Al says cheerfully, his anxiety about the yelling gone.

"Thank you so much, honey," Dada says softly, kissing the side of Al's head.

"You're welcome, Dada," Al replies, a smile on his face.

"C'mon, Dad," I say, standing, "Let's go. I'm starved."

"Same," Paninya says loudly, stretching as she stands.

"You guys are such babies," Winry teases. "Always thinking with your stomach."

"Like you don't?" I ask, Winry glaring at me.

"Now you two," Dad says, grabbing his keys, "Let's not fight. Good energy makes for productive, good studying."

"Not the energy talk again, Dad," I complain, opening the garage door.

"So the energy craze hasn't ended, then?" Winry asks. I shake my head. The last couple months or so, Dad's tried to encourage "good energy" in the home by keeping things calm and as clean as he can. He says positive, good energy makes people more productive. He's also tried to eat "clean", but that's kinda hard to do considering he doesn't cook at all.

"There's some truth to it, you know," Dad says. "It's more of a mindset thing than an actual energy thing. If you feel like the energy is good, you'll feel better."  
"Like a placebo?" Al asks.

"Sort of, yeah," Dada answers. "Though, I do believe that there's some spiritual energy that can actually be good or bad that influences you."

"You do?" Winry questions. Dad nods and Winry says, "I didn't know that about you." Dad shrugs as he gets into the car.

"I never talk about it, really," Dada replies, staring the car. "Trish was religious, you know. Born into it and got me to go with her to church occasionally."

"I didn't know you went with her," I say.

"Oh, we went as a family," Dad tells me, pulling out of the driveway. "I'm just not good at being religious, so we only go on Christmas and Easter, now."

"But you believe in spiritual energy 'cause of Mom?" I ask, really curious. I didn't know that Mom got Dada into the church thing. I knew Mama was Christian, but Dad never forced us to go to church or anything like that. So I don't believe in that stuff. But Dad does?

"You believe in God, Dad?" Al ask. Dad nods and I can't believe it. My dad, a man of science and the most rooted person I know believes in a higher power. And it doesn't make him less of a scientist, either. This is weird, man.

"You can thank your mother for that," Dad laughs softly.

"You guys should go with Rose to youth group sometime," Paninya tells us. "I know it sounds lame, but it's kinda fun."

"You've been?" I question, Paninya nodding.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she says, waving her hand. "People get the wrong idea about church kids, you know that they're judgmental and stuff, but they're all really nice. They have parties with cheap pizza and soda sometime. Maybe we could all go with her next time."

"That would make Rose happy," Winry comments. "I don't think she wants to convert everyone, but she doesn want us to hang out with her."

"Ugh, I don't know," I groan. "Organized religion makes me sick to my stomach."  
"Oh," Al says and he sounds kinda disappointed. "I kinda wanted to go."

"You… did?" I question, baffled. Al's never been interested in that kind of stuff. Or if he is, he's kept it quiet. Maybe he only wants to go 'cause Mom was into it. I don't know.

"Yeah," Al replies quietly. "I mean, I guess I could go with Winry and Paninya, but it wouldn't be the same without you."

"Hey, whoa," I say, "I didn't know you were interested." Al nods and I say, "I'll go with you, okay, Ally? It could be fun."

"Well," Dad says fondly. "My boys going to a church function. Trisha would be so happy."

"Really?" I ask.

"Of course," Dada answers. "She didn't want to force you two into anything. She and I felt it was very important to allow you boys to discover things like that on your own. We felt that would make it more real for you." We get to Winry's house and Dad shakes his head. "Sorry, Paninya," he apologizes, "We usually don't have conversations like that."

"Oh, it's cool," she says. "Friends are supposed to talk about stuff like that. How else would we get to know each other?"

"You're literally the chillest person ever," Winry laughs. Paninya shrugs.

"What can I say?" Paninya replies sheepishly.

"I'm just glad we didn't bore you or make you uncomfortable," Dad says. "Okay, boys, I'll come get you after my date."

"Okay," I say. Al leans into the front seat and gives Dada a kiss on the cheek.

"Love you, Al," Dad says softly, but that's not what he's really saying. He's really saying that this one won't turn out like her. That this time, Dad's gonna take it slow and make sure that she won't hurt us. This time, Dada's gonna protect us. And that's what he told Al without even saying it. He told that to me, too. He just can't say it with words. Not with Paninya in the car.

"Have fun, Dad," I say, opening the door. "C'mon, guys. Let's go in. I really am hungry."

"Same," Winry says, Paninya laughing.

"And after all the crap you gave me and Ed about being hungry," Paninya says, everyone out of the car. We wave to Dad as Winry leads us inside.

"What can I say," Winry replies with a shrug. "I call 'em like I see 'em."

We all eat with Granny, my mind on Dad. He's on a date. Dad's on a date. Like a real dinner then movie date. This one could lead to somewhere. I mean, it's a Sunday night so I doubt anything like that will happen, but it could. And if it does, what then? What happens to our family? I know Dada's taking it slow. I know he's being cautious and keep me and Al in mind before he goes further with Lucy. But still – if something happens, what happens to us? I pick at my food, my brain jumping to the worst possible scenarios. Abuse. Our family falling apart. Dad being alone forever. Dad starting a new family that doesn't involve me or Al. Winry glances over at me but quickly returns her attention to the conversation. I wish I could be involved with the conversation, but I can't. My minds miles away, it's with Dada and Lucy on their date, and nothing anyone does will get it back.

Paninya leaves after dinner. We make plans to study together with Ling and Lan Fan tomorrow after school in the library. This whole week will be studying. I just hope that I'll be able to focus on studying tonight. I did what I could to be involved at dinner but I failed miserably. I think everyone knew that my mind was someplace else and I know for sure that everyone but Paninya knew where it was. We go to Winry's room, Al and Winry talking about Christmas. Oh, yeah. I guess that is next week. We'll be in Chicago, spending it with the grandfather I don't know. Ugh, that sounds like I'll be full of anxiety. Great. I do want to meet my grandpa, I'm just not so sure about the spending a week in a hotel and meeting a guy I don't know part. Well, maybe we won't be in a hotel. I know Dada's got more family in Chicago. We might stay with them which is way worse. I don't know any of them. They could be like my Aunt Karen and Uncle George for all I know. And Christmas isn't exactly the time I want to learn about it. If they are that way, it'd be a crappy Christmas and I don't want that. I wanna have a good Christmas. Sometimes I wish that me and Dad and Al could just do Christmas together, just the three of us. That's what we do on Christmas Eve and it's my favorite thing about Christmas. On Christmas Eve, we pick up a turkey from some restaurant and eat it at home. After dinner, we go to a candle light service at a church for Christmas carols and to hear that Jesus story. Then after that, we tour lights in town and head home. We open a present that night and Dada tells us stories about Mom while looking at a photo album. Yeah, Christmas Eve is definitely my favorite.

"Brother?"

Al's voice brings me out of my thoughts and I look at him. He looks at me, trying to read my face. "What's up?"

"I, uh, need help with this matrix," Al tells me. "I think I've been staring at it for too long."

"Sorry," I say, shaking my head. "Let me see it."

"Are you okay?" Winry asks. I blink at her and she says, "You were totally spaced." I nod, grabbing Al's math.

"Yeah," I say. "Just got caught up in thought, I guess."

"What were you thinking about, Brother?" Al asks.

"Christmas, mostly," I answer. "Dad's date, too."

"Christmas is so close," Winry sighs happily. "I can feel it in my bones, now."

"We won't be at home," Al says quietly. "I wonder what that'll be like. Will it still feel like Christmas in Chicago?"

"Sure it will," Winry assures him. "Christmas is more of a feeling, I think, than a holiday. I've always felt like that."

"A feeling, huh?" Al says with a smile. "Yeah, I guess that's true. I remember the first Christmas that actually felt Christmas I had in a long time. It was two years ago. I smelled Granny's sugar cookies, saw Dada drinking egg nog and…. I don't know. It felt like Christmas for the first time in a long time. It's like… you feel it."

"Yeah," I say, "I remember that. I actually felt like Christmas was happening that year after nearly ten years of Christmas coming and going like it never happened. It's definitely a feeling."

"So," Winry goes on, putting her hair behind her ear, "Christmas will feel like Christmas as long as you're with the people you love." Al grins and I look at the matrix he's stuck on.

"This is a hard one, Ally," I tell him.

"Brother?  
"What?"

"Are you nervous about Dada's date?" Al asks.

"You know," I begin, setting the math down for now, "I was, but I'm not so much anymore. I was so terrified but I trust Dad. I know he means it when he says he'll take it slow with Lucy. I just hope he has fun and isn't too awkward." Winry laughs.

"Your poor dad is always awkward," Winry chuckles. "He just is so nervous and scared that he'll say the wrong thing around people."

"You think that's what it is?" I scoff.

"Well, yeah," Winry replies. "I've known him my whole life. That's totally what it is. You and Al are kinda the same way."

"Al, maybe," I say, "But not me. I'm not scared of saying the wrong thing. I'm just awkward in general."

"Well, I guess that's true," Winry agrees lightly.

"Here, Al," I say, redirecting to the math problem he asked me about five minutes ago. "Just multiple these two instead of these two. Got it?"

"Oh, that makes sense," Al says. "Okay, lemme finish, hold on." I give it back to him and watch as Al quickly finishes the matrix. The numbers work out cleanly, Al breathing a sigh of relieve. "Thank God."

"Matrixes are the worst," Winry complains loudly, rubbing her eye. "You never used them passed algebra three."

"Yeah, I figured as much," Al replies with a yawn.

"What's the matter, guys?" I tease, "Gettin' sleepy?" Winry glares at me while Al just nods sleepily. I check my watch and see it's nearly eleven.

"Oh, damn, it's late," I comment. "Let's call it, guys. We've studied plenty for tomorrow."

"I'm gonna get ready for bed," Winry announces, standing. "You guys can hang out in my room until Uncle Vic comes to get you."

"You sure?" I ask. "We can hang out downstairs so you can sleep."

"Nah, it's fine," Winry yawns. "I usually play on my phone for a while before I sleep." Winry grabs her pajamas and says, "I'll be right back." She leaves, Al putting away his math study guide.

"Did you get that all done?" I ask. Al nods, yawning loudly.

"Mmm, uh-huh," Al replies, rubbing at his eyes. "I got it all done."

"Good boy," I praise. "Feel ready for the final?"

"Yeah," Al answers. "I'm not as nervous as I thought I'd be."

"Good," I say. "I was really nervous last year."

"Which final are you exempting?" Al asks.

"German," I answer. "Don't feel like doing the speaking portion of the final so I exempted it."

"Good plan," Al yawns. "Next…. Next semester I'll probably exempt my German final, too."

"Yeah, the speaking parts of language finals really blow, baby brother," I inform him, Al yawning again. I shake my head and say, "Okay, buddy, let's go downstairs. You can nap until Dada comes."

"Mmm, okay," Al agrees.

"Need me to carry you?" I ask. Al nods and I finish packing his backpack. I grab his and help him put it on before slipping mine on my back. I pick Al up, his head resting on my chest as Winry walks back in.

"Are you moving downstairs anyways?" She asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "Al's super tired and wants to take a nap on your couch."

"Okay," she says with a smile. "Goodnight, then, guys. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"You need Dada to drive you home tomorrow after finals since we get out early?" I ask. Winry nods.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Winry answers. "Granny isn't sure she can get out of the garage in time to pick me up. I'll tell her in the morning that you guys are giving me a ride after we study in the library with everyone."

"How long is that gonna last do you think? Dad wants to know." I ask.

"Gee, I don't know," Winry replies, scratching the back of her head. "An hour or two knowing our friends? Ling's gonna take everyone to get some lunch, I think, and after that we'll study until the whole studying thing falls apart. Shouldn't take longer than an hour."

"Our friends are the worst," I laugh, Al chuckling softly.

"The absolute worst," Al agrees sleepily.

"Okay, go down stairs," Winry says with a smile. "We all need to get some sleep. See you tomorrow."

"'Kay," I reply. "See you tomorrow." I walk out of the room, Al already dozing off. I head down the stairs, surprised to hear Dad's voice floating into my hears. I place Al gently on the couch and walk into the kitchen, Granny and Dad talking.

"Dada?" I ask. They stop talking and look at me, a smile spreading on Dad's face.

"Hey, buddy," Dad greets warmly.

"When'd you get in?" I ask.

"Just a few minutes ago," he answers, standing. "I was about to come get you boys."

"Oh, well, Al's on the couch," I tell him. "He's pretty worn."

"I bet," Dada replies. "He's never had to study like this before. It's always hardest the first year."

"Yup," I agree, walking out of the kitchen. "How was your date?"  
"Oh, it was fine," Dad says with a chuckle. He picks Al up and goes on, "Dinner was nice. We talked to whole time and saw a movie. It was good, though I couldn't tell you what it was called."  
"Your memory's fading, old man," I laugh. Dad says goodnight to Granny and laughs at my joke.

"I suppose so, Ed," he muses, putting Al in the car. Al peels his eyes open and smiles tiredly at Dad.

"How was your date, Daddy?" Al asks with a yawn.

"It was good," Dad answers, kissing his forehead. "We had fun."

"Good," Al sighs, falling back asleep. I grin at him, hoping that the night before finals will be a night that everyone in my house will get a good night's sleep for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you guys know, I got a job so weekly updates won't be able to happen. Just keep checking for updates after it's been a couple weeks and I promise there'll be one soon. Anyway, thanks for reading and I'll see you next chapter!


	35. Al, the Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe people actually thought Al was a liar? I know I can't.

Just like last year, finals go by pretty quickly. It's kinda weird just how quickly finals week goes by considering that teachers spend practically the whole semester freaking out about them and forcing us to stress about them for two months before they start. Oh well. Today's Wednesday and school's over all ready. During finals week, we only meet until noon meaning we take two two-hour long tests each day. Tomorrow's the last day of finals so the early morning final is last hour and the last two-hour block is a make-up final time for people who missed one. If you missed more than one, you have to talk to Ms. Hawkeye about when you can make them up. Even though it's only my second year in high school, I've never missed a final and I probably won't ever. The only way I'd miss is if I was so sick that I had to be in the hospital or something. That or somebody died but I'm hoping nobody in my life does that for a while. Since school's over and nobody feels like studying anymore, Al and I are chilling in Dada's office on campus. Biochemistry has their final right now so Dada's not done for the semester yet. We've been in here since 12:30. We even had to eat lunch in here. The door to Dad's office is closed, so I'm hoping no annoying students come to bother us. I really don't want to talk to them. Not when today is the last group day we'll have until after Christmas.

I've been mulling over what I'm gonna talk about today all week. Even during my finals today I was thinking about what I'm gonna tell the kids in group today and I think I know what I'm gonna talk about. Last time I talked about the chain, one of the things that haunts me even today. Now that I've talked about that, I guess I have no choice but to talk about the basement. I shudder, my heart beating funny at the thought. I really don't wanna talk about the basement, but it's the next big horrible thing in my story. Well, the trunk happened before that, but the trunk is Al's thing. I sigh, resting my cheek on my hand. Maybe I can convince Al to talk about the trunk. We have to time skip so we can get all the big stuff in and that's the next big thing that happened. See, after she started playing house and using the dog chain on me, she didn't really come up with anything new until after the basement happened. It's like she got some kind of sick new wave of inspiration after that happened and found brand new ways to torture us. I don't know. I look over at Al, my brother reading quietly beside me.

"Hey," I say, Al glancing over his book to look at me.

"Mmm?"

"D'you wanna talk about the trunk today?" I ask. Al flinches violently, his shaking hands incapable of holding the book anymore. It falls to the ground, Al leaning over and picking it back up.

"Uh, sure," Al says, his voice all high-pitched and shaking. "I mean, I guess I have to eventually, huh?"

"You don't have to," I inform him. "I just figured, you know, we have to skip to the next horrible thing and that's it." Al nods.

"Mmm, I guess," he replies softly. "I'll try, okay? If I can't, will you tell it?"

"'Course I will," I tell him.

"Thanks," Al says. "I hate that's the next terrible thing we have to talk about." I lower my eyes.

"Same," I reply, someone knocking at the door and asking,

"Dr. Elric?" Al freezes up and I stand up. I walk to the door and open it, some college kid staring at me with wide eyes.

"He's not here right now," I say blandly. "He's giving a final right now." The boy nods.

"Yeah, I know," he tells me. "I forgot to give him my orgo lab book. Can you give it to him?" I stare at him as he pulls the lab book out of his backpack. He holds it out to me and I nod.

"Uh, sure," I finally say, taking it. "When was it due?" The kid flinches, a nervous laugh escaping his lips.

"Uh, two days ago," he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. I cross my arms and roll my eyes.

"My dad's not gonna accept this, you know that, right?" I inform him.

"Well, I figured that maybe you could just slide in with the others before he comes back," the kid tells me. I scoff.

"Nah, bro," I reply, the boy glaring at me. "I'll just give this to Dad and you can hope for the best."

"Pussy," he mutters, walking off. I glare at his back, his lab notebook in my hand. I kinda want to throw it at him, but that might really piss him off and I don't want that. He might actually hit me or something if I make him mad so I'll just hold on to his stupid late lab book until Dad comes back.

"He said a swear," Al says as I sit back down next to him. I nod and flip through his lab book.

"Ugh," I groan, looking at past low grades and sloppy work, "This is straight garbage, Al. I really hope Dada doesn't even look at this. Kid doesn't deserve anything for this crap."

"Is it that bad?" Al asks, leaning over so he can look.

"Well, he's missing the mechanism for the last lab as well as a decent procedure so yeah," I tell him. "It's that bad."

"If you're gonna turn in something late, shouldn't you at least turn in the finished product?" Al questions.

"I think so but whatever," I reply. I flip through the book, chuckling darkly at that dumb kid's really shitty work. I find a really bad conclusion and say, "Read this, Al." Al takes it from me and starts to read. He laughs quietly and says,

"Oh, wow," Al chuckles. "This guy really doesn't understand his gen chem, does he?"

"Understatement of the century, Al," I laugh. "I mean, God. There's free tutoring on campus! How hard is it to get help?"

"Maybe he was embarrassed that he's in orgo but has trouble with gen chem," Al suggests.

"Yeah, maybe," I nod. "Or maybe he's a douche-y football guy who couldn't be bothered to go and get help in the library for, like, an hour each time he had to write a lab report." Al shoots me a look.

"You really believe the worst about people, don't you, Brother?" Al questions.

"That's my specialty," I tell him with a smile. Al chuckles softly and goes back to reading. We sit in silence for a while until Al pipes up,

"Ed?"

"Yeah?" I reply.

"I, uh, was just thinking, about group today," Al tells me, lowering his book on to his lap.

"What about it?" I question.

"Just… Well, I don't think the trunk is the next bad thing," Al says.

"Then what the hell is?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"It's when I told my teacher." My blood runs cold.

"Oh," I breath, my heart beating funny. Well. Al's completely right. The trunk happened after he sobbed to his first grade teacher that she abused us. He cried and cried and cried, knowing that if they couldn't find any proof, we'd be trapped and she'd be furious. She'd tell Dada in tears that Al dared to say such an awful lie and he'd get in the most trouble a six-year-old could ever be in. Oh, yeah. This is definitely the next worst thing in the story.

"I know," Al says quietly, tears in his voice. I can see him wipe at the corner of his eyes out of the corner of my own. "I kinda wanted to forget that ever happened. But it did. And if we're telling our story, I've got to talk about it." I nod, my throat all tight like someone poured glue in it.

"Yeah, you do," I agree hoarsely. "It just sucks that you do." The door opens and we hear Dada walk in.

"Sorry, boys," he says, shutting the door behind him. Al quickly hides his face behind his book so Dada won't see he's crying and sniffles softly. I watch Dad practically drop all those biochem finals on his desk and he says, "One student took up the entire two hours and then some." I check my watch and notice that Dad is, like, half an hour later than he said he'd be. It's two thirty now.

"That's okay," I tell him. Dad grins weakly at me.

"I just hope the poor girl does well considering how long she spent on the test," Dad chuckles. He notices the lab book on his desk and picks it up.

"This yours, Ed?" Dada asks.

"Nope," I reply. "Some kid in your orgo class stopped by about thirty minutes ago and dropped this off. He's really hoping that you'll be nice to him and ignore both the fact he turned it in late and the sloppy work he threw together at the last minute. Dada nods and opens the book. He reads the name and groans.

"Well, this makes sense," Dada laughs sarcastically. "This kid can never keep track of deadlines because he simply doesn't care. How he passed gen chem is beyond me. I think the chair got soft last year and let things slide that he never would have in the past."

"And Lucy?" I tease, my eyebrow raised.

"Well, she's like the previous head of department only harder," Dad tells me. "She really cracked down on those freshmen pre-med's this year so they actually realize what they're getting themselves into."

"Good," I say, Al lowering his book. He's done crying now and has a weak smile on his face.

"Yeah, that's good," Al agrees. "If gen chem is too easy, all the freshmen assume the other chemistry classes will come easy to them, too." Dad nods.

"Yes, that's right," Dad affirms, Al grinning ear to ear. "Orgo will continue to be hard and weed out people who just can't keep up, but now more students will be prepared and have better study habits so maybe more of them will be successful and less of them will withdraw or fail."

"That's the dream, right, Dada?" I ask lightly. Dad shuts that lazy kid's notebook and puts it back on the desk.

"Indeed," Dad replies.

"So are you even gonna grade his notebook?" Al asks. Dad smirks and nods.

"Oh, yes," Dad answers. "I grade everything that makes it to my desk. I just subtract up to ten percent for every day it's late then I tend to grade late work harder than on time work just for kicks and, well, I think Dustin's gonna find that lazy late work really doesn't pay off in my upper division chemistry classes."

"Heh," I snicker. "Good. That kid was a real douche canoe."

"Ed," Dad sighs, shaking his head. I hold my hands up.

"Paddle the canoe," I say. "That's all I'm gonna say." Dad laughs and walks over to his chair. He sits down and begins looking through the tests.

"We'll leave at three, boys," Dada tells us. "I need to get some work done before we go."

"How much grading to you need to get done this weekend?" I ask.

"Too much," Dad laughs. "But I figure I can get through Dustin's lab book in half an hour or less. I know what his labs look like. I've read his lab reports. This'll only take fifteen minutes then we'll go." I nod.

"Dada?" Al asks.

"Yes, honey?" Dad replies, his brow furrowed as he sets the douche canoe's lab book on top of the biochem finals.

"Are you gonna stay for group again?" Al asks. Dada sighs and puts down his grading pen.

"Oh, I don't know, Al," Dad says, rubbing his temples. "I didn't react well last time if you recall."

"Yeah, but…." Al trails off and I know what he means. Well, I know what he's trying to say, I mean. He's trying to say he thinks Dad needs to hear what he's gonna say in group today. He needs to actually hear Al's side of the story from that horrible day now that everything's over. Dada needs to listen to Al talk about one of the worst things that's ever happened to him so they can both finally put it behind them.

"I see," Dada breathes, seemingly picking up on everything Al said without saying it. "Then I suppose I will. If you need me to, anyway."

"I do," Al says softly. "I'll be talking again and I need you to stay, Dada. Please."

"Of course, Al," Dad replies, picking his pen back up. "I'll stay with you. Promise." Al nods and nobody talks again until we get in the car.

Dad pulls up to the building and sighs as he parks the car. Yeah, staying for group really didn't go well for Dada last time. He got really upset and just, left – hardly saying anything to anyone about it. All that guilt he's been feeling for two years exploded the last time he sat in so I get why he really didn't want to go again. At the same time, I also know how good it is for him to face those things. He's been running from all those shitty things just like me and Al have. He's just doing it differently. He's burying his head in the sand and ignoring what happened while me and Al are really just trying to forget it happened at all. But we can't. We can't do either of those things. Like it or not, all that shit happened. Running from it and ignoring it doesn't make it go away. It happened. Period. End of story. We get out of the car and I take Al's hand. He told me under his breath in the car that he wanted to try and tell most of the story on his own. He says he wants to start it and I'll finish so I can gloss over the details of the aftermath and end it real nice for everyone.

We walk inside and everyone watches as Dad comes in the room with us. They stare at him for a second before looking away. I guess they haven't forgotten about how he just got up and left because he couldn't handle what me and Al said. Well, Dada, we can't handle what we say either. That's why we're at that dumb group week after week and why we go to therapy two times a week. Nobody can handle it. And, honestly, I don't think anyone ever really can. We'll never handle it; we'll just learn how to deal with it so we can live mostly normal lives. That's the dream. The three of us sit down in our normal spot in the circle, Dr. Hughes coming over to talk to Dada. He says he's glad Dad decided to come again today. He really thinks it'll help us heal as a family if Dad hears our story. I don't know if that's true. I mean, in theory, sure it works but in practice? The last time Dad heard our story he quickly left the room and was upset the rest of the night. Whenever me or Al let something slip to him about the abuse, he gets so awkward, uncomfortable, and upset that we hardly ever talk to him about it. Well, that's one reason we don't. We've got lots of reasons. That one's just icing on the cake. So, sure – in books talking about it helps a family heal as a unit. But in real life, I'm not so sure.

"Okay," Dr. Hughes says, reigning in the soft chatter in the room. It quiets down, ever eye on him. "Let's get started. We have Ed and Al's dad here with us today but like last week he'll step out when they're done speaking so there's no breech on confidentiality." Well. Way to throw Al right into it, Dr. Hughes. Everyone turns to us and Al swallows nervously.

"I, uh, well, I'm gonna tell most of it today," Al beings, everyone leaning closer to him so they can hear him better. "So, here it goes." Well. Al's jumping right in, too. Guess he figures if he doesn't start now, he never will. I don't know.

"The chain and playing house were favorites of hers for a really long time," Al says, the story beginning. "I can remember wondering if she'd ever come up with new games to play with us and she did – she just never liked them the same way. The fear and panic those two things brought to us were more than enough to keep us in line while keeping her happy. And as the year went on and kindergarten ended for me, I realized that the likelihood of Dada catching on to everything on his own were slim. Not because he wasn't observant or didn't care or anything like that. There were two main reasons that I came up with that summer before first grade and I still know that they're why he never caught on while it was happening. The first one was he simply wasn't home enough. He'd be at home for a couple weeks then leave for a couple weeks. His hours at the college were bizarre and his research schedule was random and subject to change at any time. If they moved his conference up he'd be gone, end of story. Plus, his work was time consuming and he was always tired and stressed, so he wasn't really home when he was at home.

"The other big reason was that Vanessa was really good at covering her tracts. The physical abuse, like the beatings and chain and stuff, always happened the first few days Dada was gone. She'd beat us senseless for a few days but after four or five days depending on how long Dad was away, she'd switch gears. The emotional, verbal, and psychological stuff happened after that. Playing house, the food games, the mirror – all that was a way for her to abuse us while the huge bruises healed and the swelling went down. If she did get physical during those days, it was slapping and grabbing and pushing. Nothing that would leave a mark that required days of healing. Vanessa was good – really good. She knew how to make it seem like she was the step-mom trying to connect with her rotten, ungrateful step-kids and that we were the ones causing all the problems. We were the disruption.

"It was that summer before first grade that I realized that I was trapped. As a little kid, I would imagine that even as a grown-up I'd be getting hurt by Vanessa while Dad was happy in his own little world where me and Brother were the problem and someday, Vanessa's discipline methods would eventually 'straighten us out'. Adulthood really wasn't a concept I understood. I mean, I knew someday I'd be a grown-up, but I applied my reality to that distant dream. There really was no escape. I was always going to go hungry, always going to smell, always going to get hurt, and I'd always be a bad boy. Because of all the stress and anxiety I was going through in those early elementary years, I was having a lot of issues. Not only was I not sleeping and wetting the bed, I was withdrawn and socially strange. I never really talked to anyone, not even my teachers, and when I did I never really knew how to act. And considering one of my strongest memories from my early childhood is the night the abuse started, abuse kinda shaped my whole world view.

"I saw other kids and adults as threats – not people. I saw the whole world as something that was gonna hurt me so I never knew how to act. I tried to act like I wasn't constantly terrified and all that did was get me tested for autism and ADHD more times than I can count from the time I was five until I was ten. And on top of all that social stuff that was happening to me, I was constantly peeing myself and that really made my life a nightmare at school and at home. Dada would always lecture me about how I 'knew better' and I should try harder to use the bathroom more. Vanessa would always scream and hit me. Kids would tease me. Teachers would scold me for that and all my other strange behaviors like hoarding food and pencils and everything else I was doing. All the people around me made me feel like I was wrong. Everything about me was bad. Why else would they criticize everything I did and said? There were only a few people in those days that didn't. When Dad wasn't giving me lectures and reminding me just how disappointed he was in me, he loved on me like normal. In the rare moments I saw Granny and Winry, they treated me like they always did – like I was a member of their family. And Brother…. Well, Brother was going through his own rough patch but he managed to mask all that for my sake. He treated me like no one else did, like no one else could. Had I been an only child, I really don't know if I would even be here right now, honestly.

"As summer came to a close, my anxiety just got worse and worse. While I did enjoy learning, I really hated school after the horrible year I had in kindergarten. I had no friends at school and the teachers all treated me like I was some radioactive creature who was disgusting. I already felt that way so adults reinforcing it day after day for weeks out of the year really wasn't good for me. Night after night leading up to the first day, Vanessa was particularly nasty toward me and Brother. Dad was home for most of it so she couldn't treat us like she wanted to. But she managed to ingrain in us just how disgusting and rotten we really were. She'd tease me, saying I should just wear diapers to school like I did to bed since I was having so many accidents. She'd tell Ed that he should just drop out of school 'cause he wasn't a real person – he was just a dog with a collar and everything. Stuff like that. Stuff that really messed us up and still makes my insides squirm when I think about all the horrible, nasty, terrible things she told us.

"The first few weeks of first grade went exactly how I thought they would in my anxiety-filled mind. Dada told me that maybe I'd make some friends in first grade since I was in a class with new kids but I didn't. I was too weird and peed in my pants too much for anyone to like me. I was doing well, but never spoke to anyone unless I had to and never had a partner for anything. Vanessa still treated me like I was something gross rather than a person and I was literally a shell of who I used to be. In pre-school, I was happy and playful and had lots of friends. My teachers all loved me and school was my favorite part of the day. But I hated school in elementary. I dreaded it. I hated the way my teacher looked at me – the way her nose would crinkle up when she walked by after a couple weeks of not getting a bath. I hated her snide sideways glances toward me, the way she'd exhale in annoyance when I came near her. But after a few weeks of school, the stress of everything broke me.

"It was October. The teacher assigned a little project about our families to do with a partner. As per usual, she let the kids pick their partner so I didn't have one. She passed out the supplies to make a family tree and I just kinda stared at the construction paper sitting on my desk. I knew what a family tree was, sorta. I knew it was a tree with branches that connected the members of your family to each other. I had the instructions, so I could do it correctly except the instructions didn't tell me how to include both Mom and Vanessa on the tree. I briefly considered just leaving Vanessa out, but I knew better. If I did that, when I brought it home Vanessa and Dada would be mad at me. I looked around the room, my hands shaking as I got more and more panicked. I didn't know what to do but I didn't want to ask the teacher. She'd just treat me like she always did and I didn't need that in my panicked state. Instead I picked up a marker and wrote Mom's name and connected it to Dada's. Then I wrote Vanessa's name next to Dada's but wasn't sure if I should connect it or not. I whimpered, writing my name next to Brother's and connecting it to Dad and Mom. I shook my head, knowing my family shouldn't be on tree like a normal kid. I wasn't a normal kid and my family wasn't normal. My family was a nightmare and no one but me and Ed knew it. A few tears dripped on to the paper, a couple kids whispering about it around me.

"'Mrs. Everett,' someone sitting at the table next to me called, 'Alphonse is crying – again.' I could hear Mrs. Everett groan softly and I glanced up at her. She walked over, recoiling at the smell that clung to my skin.

'Is something wrong, Alphonse?' She asked halfheartedly. I shook my head, my hands trying desperately to wipe away tears.

'No,' I lied, my lip trembling. 'I kinda just miss my mom.'

'You'll see her after school,' Mrs. Everett told me, obviously not thinking about it. I shook my head.

'I won't,' I replied quietly, still crying. 'My mom's dead.' There was a tense silence as every eye landed on me as I continued breaking down. I could hear them whispering, saying things like 'He doesn't have a mom' and 'oh, that's sad'. Yeah, I knew it was sad. That's why I was crying. Mrs. Everett put a hand on my shoulder and said,

'I'm sorry. I didn't know.' I nodded, still crying heavily. I couldn't get myself to calm down. I was slowly descending into sobbing, everyone in the room watching. 'Okay, let's go, honey,' Mrs. Everett said gently. 'Let's go into the hallway for a minute.' Mrs. Everett pulled me to my feet and we walked out into the hallway. I continued sobbing, Mrs. Everett watching guiltily. After a few minutes of the endless crying, Mrs. Everett asked the question that was going to ruin my life for a couple of weeks;

'Is something going on at home?' I nodded. Against all better judgement, I nodded. I knew better. I knew that Vanessa had warned us time and time again that we would regret if we ever told anyone about what was happening at home. She told us no one would believe us and we'd be in more trouble than we could ever imagine if we told. But despite knowing all these things, I nodded. I nodded.

'M-My st-step-mom is m-m-mean t-t-to me a-and B-B-Brother," I sobbed loudly. "Sh-She hits us a-and d-d-doesn't g-g-give us f-f-food a-and always c-c-calls us names! I d-don't w-w-wanna live w-with her a-anymore!'

"I told her everything. In just a few minutes, all my dirtiest secrets came pouring out of me, Mrs. Everett nodding along in silent horror. I told her all about what was going on at home and how my dad who loved me had no idea. He just didn't know. And now she did. She did know. And I knew that I had made a mistake. I knew that. I knew that if my story was discredited, I would be in the most trouble I had ever been in. I knew all that. But I couldn't stop myself. I just kept talking and sobbing, knowing full well that I was in for it."

Al stops talking, his eyes staring off into the distance. I check my watch and see there's seven minutes of talking yet, but I can tell Al's not gonna finish. He doesn't have it in him. So I take his hand, take a deep breath, and say, "I remember the day Al told.

"They called me out of class. I had to take my clothes off in the nurse's office. The police took pictures. They asked me and Al questions. So many questions. They tried getting a hold of Dada, but that's not the person we were scared of. It was Vanessa. They got a hold of her right away. She answered the first time they called and was sitting in the office an hour later, crying to the principle. She was 'appalled' that her 'sweet little Alphonse' could lie like that. She was horrified that such an obvious lie was taken so seriously. She lied about how she was wanting to have a baby with Dad that's why Al was acting so weird. She said the bruises on our bodies were just left over from rough playing and clumsy accidents. And you know the fucked up thing about it all? They believed her. Al and I just sat in horror as Dad barged into the room, the adults around us buying everything Vanessa said. Yes, of course Al was just jealous about a made up baby. Yes of course hand mark bruises were just left over from a particularly rough wrestling match between me and Al. Of course.

"Dad was furious with Al. He yelled at him the whole way home, Al just silently taking it. He knew he messed up and now Dada was screaming at him. Vanessa was still crying in the front seat to make the whole story she created more real. I couldn't believe just how silently Al was taking the verbal beating Dad was giving him. And I had never seen Dad more angry. Ever. Eventually, Dad's voice went hoarse and Al meekly said,

'I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.' Over and over again Al apologized, silent tears running down his face. Thing was he was sorry. He was sorry Dad got dragged into our messed up world. He was sorry the police got involved. He was sorry that now that everyone thought he lied once, any time after this that someone suspected abuse it got shut down 'cause Al 'lied' one time.

"Al was grounded for a really long time after that. The next time Vanessa went away, he got beaten to the point where he wasn't recognizable in the face and missed a ton of school. Mrs. Everett, Al's teacher, was nicer to him after that which I know Al appreciated it but that was the only good thing that came out of what happened. Now, Al would blame himself each time Vanessa got hot lined and nothing happened. All because he told the truth but no one believed him. Everyone treated him like a liar and Dad never really acted the same around Al again."

My watch goes off and I silence it quickly. All eyes are on Dad and I notice a lot of things. Some people have sympathy in their gaze. Others have pity. Some are angry. Lots of disappointment. Dad is staring off into space like Al, the room tense and silent. Soon, though, Dada stands up and walks over to Al. He stares at Al, Al's lip trembling violently as Dad reaches out to him. Dada delicately pets Al's hair and slowly brings Al's head to his chest. Al breaks down, wailing pathetically as Dad holds him. Everyone watches as Dad picks Al up, rocking back and forth as Al sobs like a little baby.

"I'm sorry, Al," Dad whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." Dr. Hughes smiles sadly and I can tell he's rather pleased with himself. Okay, Dr. Hughes. Maybe doing this together really will help us heal as a family. Maybe you're right.

"I'm going to take Al," Dad says. "If he calms down, he'll be back."

"I'll go, too," I say, standing. Dad shoots me a look and I groan. "C'mon, Dada."

"Go on," Dr. Hughes says. "And don't worry about making it back. Take some time with your family. You need it." Dad nods and gestures toward me with his head.

"Alright. Let's go, then, Ed." I nod and wave to everyone. They wave back and I hurry after Dad who's still holding Al close.

"I'm sorry, Dada," Al wails softly, his voice muffled by Dad's shirt. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that," Dad instructs gently. "You didn't do anything wrong, Al. You did everything right. It was me who messed up that day and I'm so sorry." I frown, wondering what we could do to calm Al down. I gasp, inspiration striking me.

"Let's go to the creamery and get ice cream," I suggest cheerfully. "That always puts Al in a good mood."

"Are the cows out?" Al asks, his voice hoarse from the crying. I shrug.

"Beats me," I answer, "Probably."

"How does that sound, Al?" Dada asks like he's a little kid. "Does that sound good?" Al nods.

"Mmm, yeah," Al hums, Dad helping him into the car. "That sounds good. I like cows." I shake my head, though I'm glad something this dumb can cheer Al up so fast.

"Cows are fat," I say, getting into the front seat.

"It's because they're full of milk," Al replies, Dad starting the car.

"Gross," I complain.

"Now, Ed," Dad says softly, "Without milk there'd be no cheese or ice cream and I know you couldn't live without those things." Dad starts the car and I shake my head.

"Yeah, I guess," I mumble.

"Dad?" Al asks from the back.

"Yes?"

"Are you glad you came to group today?" Al asks. Dada lowers his head and I can see him shake it.

"I don't know yet," he replies softly. "Listening to you recount something so terrible really broke my heart. And now…. Well, now I feel more guilty for punishing you back then than I ever have. So, I really don't know."

"It's cool to not know," I tell him. "I don't know lots of things." Dad chuckles weakly.

"I suppose," he muses. "Still – I think regardless of how I feel about attending the group, it's good for me to. You boys have been too scared to share that part of you for so long and some of the blame for what happened falls on to me. I think it's good that I go, even if I don't like what I hear. I have to stop running, same as you." My dad really is, like, the smartest person I know. It took me so long to admit I had been running from my past out loud but he can do it no problem. I guess some of that comes with being an adult; I don't know.

"Sorry you feel guilty, Dada," Al says quietly.

"Al, I should feel guilty," Dad informs him. "I punished you for telling the truth. I yelled at you for admitting to your teacher what was going on and I know how hard and scary that was for you. I mean, you were only six years-old and I was screaming at you like you were a misbehaved teenager. I realize now that's what she wanted all along and I'm sorry."

"But, Dada," Al protests meekly, "Feeling guilty doesn't change what happened. Isn't it better to forgive yourself now that you've heard my side and move on?" Dada sighs, a sad smile on his face.

"Yes, you're right," Dad affirms, "But I think the forgiving part will happen a little later. I still have to process everything." I nod. Yeah, I get that.

"Okay," I interject, "Enough depressing talk. Let's guess how many cows are at the creamery."

"500!" Al cries happily, Dada chuckling at his silliness. My brother is silly. Even after everything that happened to him, he's still silly. He's still goofy, still caring, still gentle. And if he can hold on to those traits after everything that's happened to us and can get better, maybe our family really can heal, too.


	36. Christmas in Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've never been to Chicago, but the Six Flags there seems super cool.

Turns out the cows spend more time indoors during winter than they do any other time of year. Oh well. Al still had fun 'cause the creamery has an area where you can go out to part of the barn and visit the cows so we still got to see them. We also got that ice cream that we went to the creamery for in the first place so that was a plus. I love the creamery's ice cream and they also had some non-alcoholic egg nog so Dada bought some of that. He wants to save it for Christmas Eve but we'll see if that really happens. Chances are, it'll be mostly gone by then 'cause people will drink a little of it every time they open the fridge 'cause it's that good. Anyway, after we had ice cream, we went home to study for our last final, had dinner, then went to bed.

As per usual, me and Al didn't exactly sleep well but we took our final like champs and now school's finally over for the semester. It was like a weight had been lifted off my chest when I turned in my last final. I hadn't been the best student this semester considering I was having trouble remembering what I did in school all semester. I mean, I guess I could have just said "fuck it" and not even done my homework or something, but for me not paying attention is being a bad student. I don't know. Anyways, now that the semester's over, Christmas can officially begin. My family always does an advent calendar so I guess in that way we've been in the Christmas-mood since the first day of December. But in between school and all the shit that we've been dealing with this year, I haven't really felt Christmas-y. But if I'm gonna be honest, I don't think I've felt Christmas-y, like the way you feel when you're a little kid around Christmas, since I was six. Dada says we base our Christmas-y feelings around how we felt about Christmas when we were little kids. Considering how much my whole family loves Christmas, that feeling was an all-consuming, swallowed a whole bunch of cider, feeling. When I think of feeling the happiest I could ever feel, Christmas when I was a kid comes to mind. Since I haven't really felt that way in years, I guess I don't really like Christmas the way I used to. I mean, I still get excited but lately it just feels like Christmas comes and goes without even saying "hi" to me.  
Al, on the other hand, has been in the Christmas spirit since October. He's talked about it off and on in the months leading up to it and now it's all he can talk about. We put our tree up the day after Thanksgiving like usual and all Al could talk about was going to Chicago and Christmas shopping and gingerbread houses and going on our annual tour of the lights on Christmas Eve. He's the one that reminds me and Dada in the morning that we need to do our advent calendar and he's asking about Mom a lot. I don't know how, but Al managed to preserve that Christmas feeling he had when he was little despite all the shit he's gone through. I shouldn't be surprised by that, though. I mean, Al's managed to preserve all those gentle, kind parts of himself that by all accords should have been absolutely destroyed by her over the years. That's why Al is so freaking strong. He kept his personality intact throughout it all. I, on the other hand, feel like I've lost myself most of the time. There's part of me that got lost after That Night and I've never been able to find it. I may never find it. I honestly think it's a waste of my time to look for that piece of myself 'cause it died almost ten years ago. That's probably why I never feel Christmas-y like I used to. That part of me died and now Christmas just isn't what it used to be. I don't know.

On Christmas Eve, my family always does the same things at the same time in pretty much the same way. It's been that way since I was born. Here's the run down. Our festivities start at precisely 4:30pm when we head over to a church on the square and attend a candle-light service with Granny and Winry. After the service, we drive around Resembool looking at all the Christmas lights and listening to Christmas music in the car. When we've seen all the lights we can see, we go to Granny's house where we have our Christmas dinner and open presents together. Dada and Granny have coffee after that and everyone watches cheesy Christmas specials together. At around 10:00, Dada, Al and I head home and we get a new pair of pajamas. We always get a new pair of pajamas, always have, even when she was around. Dada always tells us the story of how when Mama was pregnant with me, she thought it would be a good idea to give me a new pair of pajamas on Christmas Eve so I could wake up in those new, warm pajamas on Christmas morning and open presents. While it's rare that Al and I actually wake up in the same pajamas we went to bed in, it's a nice tradition. After we put our new pajamas on, Dad comes up to our room and reads the Christmas story to us out of the book of Luke. That version was Mom's favorite. I think it's the most detailed version of the story in the Bible. I think. I don't know that for sure, though. Anyway, while the tour of the lights is Al's favorite part of Christmas Eve, the Christmas story in the new pajamas is mine. I love how gentle Dad's voice is. It's so soft and calming, and it gets softer and softer as me and Al fall asleep. I don't know if that's something he does as he notices we're getting sleepy or if his voice just fades out as we fall asleep. Either way, it's my favorite part of Christmas Eve. Hell, it might be my favorite part of Christmas in general.

I turn over in bed, unable to fall asleep. I stare at my alarm clock on my nightstand, watching as it goes from 11:59pm to 12:00am. Well. It's Christmas now. After we open presents in the morning, we're going up to Chicago to visit Dada's dad in the nursing home. After that, we're going to visit the rest of Dad's family. He's got some cousins and things like that in Chicago. His family's not all that big to begin with. A lot of his family died in Germany between 1939 and 1950. I don't know all the details, but I do know that my grandpa fled Germany with his sister and that's how the von Hohenheim's got to Chicago to begin with. Dad doesn't talk about himself or his family all that often. Granny says it's 'cause Dada likes to keep to himself so he doesn't "burden" others with his thoughts and feelings. Reserved. That's the word Granny likes to use. I roll over on my back, my mind stuck on my grandpa. I wonder what he's like. I know I've met him before but I was a baby back then. I don't remember anything about him and since he has Alzheimer's, I doubt he remembers anything about me, either. I snort softly – that's a blessing if you ask me.

"Brother?" I sit up right, my brother's voice piercing the night. I turn toward Al's bed, Al sitting on the edge of his bed. Picard's sitting happily on my brother's lap, Chico tucked under Al's arm. It's too dark to see his face.

"What's the matter?" I ask. I can hardly see him, but I can make out Al shrug.

"Can't sleep," he replies.

"Me either," I answer. I watch Al gently lift the cat off his lap and place him on the bed. Al stands and walks over, sitting down next to me. Without saying anything he curls up under my covers, his shaking body warming mine. "You wanna sleep here?" I feel Al nod.

"Yeah," he says softly. I smile fondly at him and lie down next to him.

"Okay," I say. We lie next to each other for a few minutes, Al still shaking. But Al always shakes so I don't worry about it.

"Brother?" Al asks softly after a while.

"Yeah?" I reply in question.

"What does Christmas feel like for you?" Al asks me. What a strange question. I mean, I know how it feels in my head and in my heart, but I haven't truly felt it in so long and trying to describe how a feeling physically feels is damn near impossible. But I have to try. For Al.

"Well, I don't know," I say. "I mean, I do, but it's hard to explain. Ya know?" Al hums beside me.

"Yeah," he yawns. "I know."

"But," I go on, petting his hair so he'll go to sleep, "I guess it's like…. Warmth, you know? Like my whole body feels warm. It's like being in a warm bath or always drinking something warm like apple cider or hot chocolate. I don't know. It's something like that."

"Everything feels good, you know what I mean?" Al adds tiredly. I nod. When I was a little kid, yeah. That's exactly how I felt. Everything was good. Everything was warm and had a little bit of magic behind it. That's how Christmas is supposed to feel.

"Yeah, I do," I tell him.

"I wish I could feel like that all the time," Al confides in me. "If I did, maybe life would be better."

"Maybe," I say, "But since it only comes around once a year, it makes it special. It's the feeling that makes Christmas so special. If we felt that way all the time, life would be good, but it would be boring too, I think."

"Mmm, yeah," Al agrees tiredly. "That's true."

"No more talking," I tell him as he yawns again. "Go to sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow." Al nods and curls up even closer to me.

"Okay," Al yawns. "G'night, Ed. I love you." I snuggle up closer to him, hugging him instead of Lamby and say,

"Love you, too."

Like every Christmas, we get up at the crack of dawn to open present. Dada meets us by the tree, his eyes twinkling as he watched us sit down. Cinnamon rolls are there, too, the smell reminding me for the first time all year why I love Christmas. I had been so worried that since I wasn't feeling in the spirit like I had when I was a kid that when the morning came and he cinnamon rolls were made and the presents were under the tree I wouldn't feel that happy, warm all over feeling. But I think I do. I think I might feel it. I think I felt it last year, too. And the year before that. After seven years of not feeling it, I can finally feel it again. Maybe next year, I'll feel that happy feeling throughout the holiday season. Not every day, obviously, otherwise when I feel it on Christmas it'll be old news, but you know. I wanna look at Christmas lights a week before Christmas and get that surge of Christmas feelings. We eat our cinnamon rolls, Dada sipping his coffee and talking about Mom. On Christmas, we tend to talk about Mama a lot. Christmas was Mom's favorite time of year. Granted, it's lots of people's favorite time of year but still. Mom loved it more than anybody else ever. That's the way Dad talks anyway. He loves to talk about how detailed Mom was with decorating and present hiding. He loves to describe her face when me and Al would run down stairs and react to the presents she spent nearly all year picking out for us. It's one of the days of the year that I feel close to Mom again, despite her being gone for so long.

After eating cinnamon rolls and opening presents, we all get dressed and pile into Dada's car. We're gonna spend the rest of the day up in Chicago, meeting family that we don't really know. Well, Al and me don't know them. Dad does. On the two-hour drive to Chicago, we're all quiet. Dad knows Al and I are super nervous about meeting our family so he's not trying to keep a conversation alive. The most we've said to each other was that the weather this year has been weird. We haven't gotten a lot of winter weather and the temperatures have been cold at worst and mild at best. It's been weird. But that's all we've talked about. Not that I'm complaining. I don't really have much to say right now since I'm so anxious and besides – Dad got me and Al the new Pokémon game for Christmas. It's a remake of older games, Ruby and Sapphire, so I'm excited to see what changes they made in the remake. I wish I could actually play it, though. Right now I'm so anxious that all I can manage to do is stare at my game while running through worse-case scenarios of meeting my family in my head. This is gonna be a long car ride.

After two nearly silent hours in the car, we've finally made it. The nursing home isn't in Chicago city limits, so we're not in the city yet. I mean, it's only, like, five miles out from the city but still. It's in Lincoln Park. Dada parks, turning the car off as Al shifts nervously in his seat. Al and me have no idea what to expect when we get in there. It's been nearly ten years since the last time we visited a nursing home. Nana is still independent so she doesn't need to live in a home; her husband died of a sudden heart attack so he never lived in one, either. I don't know what happened to Dada's mom (he never really talks about it) so this is the only relative I have in a nursing home. I haven't been in one since I was practically a baby so I have no idea what I'll see when I get in there. Is it like a hospital? I hate hospitals. Is it like those freaky mental health wards in movies? Or like a prison? I have no clue. Dad turns around in his seat and smiles at us.

"You ready?" He asks us. Al and I exchange glances.

"Uh…" I trail off, Dad ruffling my hair from the front seat.

"It's okay," he assures me. "It's like a dorm for old people."

"A dorm?" I ask. I've been in those. Those aren't scary.

"In a way, yes," Dad explains. "My dad's in a memory care unit. It's not like the other part of the home. It's like a little community. There's a living room, a dining room with a kitchen, and lots of places to sit down and talk. Only sixteen people live in the unit."

"So it's not like a hospital?" Al asks worriedly.

"No, honey, it's not," Dad replies. "You'll see. It's nothing scary."

"Will he like me?" Al asks pathetically and I look expectantly at Dada. Yeah – will he like us? Dad chuckles softly.

"Of course he will," Dad answers. "He likes you already. You just don't remember." We look anxiously at him and Dad gestures to his door with his head. "C'mon, boys. Let's go." I look at Al, his face draining of all color. I tell him with my eyes it'll be okay – I'll hold his hand the whole time. Al nods and puts on the bravest face he can muster.

We all get out of the car and I instantly take Al's hand. I look toward the building and see that it doesn't look like a hospital, a mental hospital, or a prison. It looks like an apartment building or a dorm, just like Dada said. Dad leads us through the front doors, a nice lady greeting us and instructing all of us to sign in and get visitor badges. She obviously recognizes Dad 'cause she starts up a conversation with him right away. They mostly talk about me and Al, the lady smiling warmly at us as Dad goes on and on about us. God, please stop. I pin my visitor's badge on to my shirt and stare at my shoes. I really hate when Dad talks about me when I'm standing right next to him. It's embarrassing. Al just kinda stands next to me, twisting his shirt in his hands. Just standing at the front entrance is really stressing him out. It's the anticipation of meeting our grandpa being allowed to grow while Dada talks to the random secretary instead of just taking us to see our grandpa. Finally, their conversation ends and Dad gives us a mini-tour of the building. He shows us the main dining room and I gotta be honest – it's nice. It's a pretty room with dark wood flooring and crystal hanging lights. It's visible from the front door so I guess they gotta impress the families so they feel less guilty about leaving their parent there. Makes sense. There's a stigma around nursing homes. Lots of old people tell their families to never put them in one and I understand why. It must be lonely. We walk through the hall, some of the staff and even some of the old people smiling and waving at Dada. We get to the end of the hall and there's a set of double doors in front of us. Our grandpa lives in a locked down unit. People with Alzheimer's and dementia tend to wander so the nursing home gives them a place where they can walk around without the risk of them escaping or getting lost. There's a code to get in, one I guess Dada has memorized 'cause the secretary didn't give it to him. He punches it into the keypad and opens the door, Al and me creeping in behind him.

I look around, my heart pounding in my chest. Okay, it does kinda look like a dorm or maybe an apartment or something. There's a common sitting area, a couple old people just chilling in a wheel chair or on the couch. There's a nurse at the desk who looks up at us, smiling and making brief small talk with Dad. Guess they know each other, too. God, how often does Dada come up here? Everyone knows him! He introduces us to the nurse and she says how it'll be good for our grandpa to see the grandchildren he talks about all the time. He talks about us? So he really does remember us? Huh. I figured Dada just told us that so we'd feel better. When he told me that our grandpa remembered us, but thought we were still babies, part of me thought that Dad just said that to make us feel better about visiting. It didn't, really, but I did like the idea of our grandpa remembering us. I don't know. Dad walks away from the nurse so I guess they're done talking. I squeeze Al's hand and follow Dad. He says hi to the old people and takes us to what looks like a living room. There's a TV on the wall and a bunch of living chairs and couches. There's a few people sitting in there. Dad walks over to a man sitting in a green chair and my heart stalls. That's him. That's my grandpa. Me and Al just stand and watch as Dad gets my grandpa's attention. They start speaking hurriedly in German, Dad gesturing over to us. His brow furrows and he smiles gently at us.

"Come here, boys," Dada instructs softly. "Come see Papa." Papa? I…. I think I remember calling him that. We visited when I was, like, three and I do have some fuzzy memories from back then. I hesitantly walk over, Al hiding behind me, and get a good look at Papa. He's like a wrinkled version of Dada. He has silver hair that I can tell was once blond like Dad. He wears glasses and has the same long nose Dada has. He's even got the same gentle brown eyes. The eyes I have, too. Papa smiles warmly at us; the same Dad smile our own dad has. My heart slows down, Papa grabbing my hand and rubbing the skin with his thumb.

"Very big," he says, his voice thick with a German accent, "So, so big." His voice his shaking and I can tell he's on the verge of tears. Apparently people with Alzheimer's and dementia can get super emotional really easily.

"Don't cry, Papa!" Al cries suddenly, pushing past me and grabbing Papa's free hand. "It's okay! Please don't cry!" Papa leans forward in his chair and kisses Al's forehead. Al gives him a big hug, Papa holding him close.

"When'd you get so big?" Papa asks, his voice strained. He pulls away from Al and chuckles weakly. "Last time I saw you, Alphonse, you were up to my knee!" Papa gestures to his knee with his hand, Al giggling weakly at him.

"I called last week and told you how old the boys were now," Dad tells Papa as he moves some chairs so we can all sit together.

"Did you?" Papa questions, Dad nodding. "Oh, my. How did I miss so many years?"

"It's okay, Papa," Dad assures him. "It's been a while since you've seen them in person."

"I remember them when they were tiny," Papa begins. "Al wasn't good at walking back then." Dad chuckles and we all sit down.

"He did the penguin waddle," Dad laughs, my brow furrowing.

"Penguin waddle?" I ask.

"He walked like he had a full diaper all the time, even when he didn't," Dad explains, Al's cheeks turning pink. "It sort of looked like a penguin and Trish really had fun with that. Al had so many sets of penguin pajamas when he was a toddler."

"Glad I grew out of that," Al laughs nervously.

"It was cute," Papa snorts, a smile on his face.

"You speak really good English, Papa," I comment. "How long have you been speaking it?  
"I don't know," Papa replies with a chuckle. "I learned as a child in Germany. My family was well off and we only got the best education. My siblings and I got a tutor for the English language when I was…. Twelve? I think I was twelve, but I might have been younger."

"How do you say 'twelve' in German, Papa?" Al asks.

"Zwölf," Papa answers instantly. "Can you boys speak any German?"

"I'm in German class," I reply. "And Al can count to ten and say some easy stuff."

"Ein, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht, neun, zehn," Al counts, Dad chuckling at him.

"Good job, Al," Dad praises, Al smiling happily. Dad leans over and picks up the gift bag he brought in to the nursing home. He hands it to Papa and says, "Here, Papa. The boys and I got you something."

"What is this?" Papa asks, taking the bag.

"It's Christmas, Papa," Al chirps happily.

"It is?" Papa questions. We all nod.

"It is," Dad tells him. "I get you something every year." Papa smiles and says,

"I didn't realize it was Christmas already, but I do have gifts for everyone, even Trisha." Papa looks around and his brow furrows. "Where is Trisha, Victor? Is she not feeling well?" Al and I exchange glances. Dada had mentioned before that Papa thinks that Mom is still alive. So what in the world is Dad gonna tell Papa? Is he gonna tell Papa the truth and ruin Christmas or is he gonna lie?

"Papa," Al sighs, Dad holding a hand up to silence him.

"Trish hasn't felt well lately," Dad lies, his eyes sad as he talks about Mama, "The treatment has been hard on her lately. She didn't feel like she could make the trip up here to Chicago to see you and Edith. Has Aunt Edith been by to see you?" Papa shrugs, his brow furrowed.

"I'm not sure," Papa answers. "I think I saw her last week but I'm not sure. This old brain doesn't work like it used to, son." Papa begins to remove tissue paper from the gift bag and Al asks me why Dada would lie to Papa about Mom. I reply by saying maybe it's 'cause telling him the truth would upset him more than it would do any good. I don't know. Papa finally pulls out the gift we got him – a photo album with lots of recent photos so Papa can look at it and see what we look like. Dad said that the pictures really won't help Papa remember how old we are, but it might help him to recognize us as his disease gets worse. He flips through it, a smile on his face.

"Your boys are beautiful," Papa comments.

"And smart," Dad adds proudly. I blush and Dad goes on, "They're both in challenging classes in school and they've always been inquisitive. Trish and I are so, so proud of them."

"Well you should be," Papa says, closing the album. "Edith always wonders when you two will have more children. Says you're the type to have a house full." Papa shakes his head and stands. "I always have to remind her that you and Trisha may not want a house full."

"Maybe not a house full, but when the boys were younger we talked about having more children," Dad says softly. "It's too late now."

"Cheer up," Papa tells Dada. "I'm going to get your presents. It's Christmas, right?" Dad nods.

"That's right," Dad replies. Papa hurries off and Dad quickly turns to us.

"Okay, boys, he probably got you something for very little kids so be nice and don't say anything to him," Dad instructs hurriedly.

"Like we'd do that," I scoff, giving him a look. "I mean; do you know Al at all? He doesn't have a mean bone in his body." Dad chuckles weakly.

"Yes, I know, but I just wanted to preface the gift so you weren't offended," Dada tells me.

"It's not his fault if he got us baby toys," Al points out. "He can't remember how old we are." Dad nods and Papa comes back. Nothing's wrapped – he clearly had no idea it was Christmas until Dad told him it was. He managed to conceal the gifts in plastic Wal-Mart bags, though, so I give him points for that. Papa sits back down in that green chair and hands Dada a bag. He hands one to Al then one to me.

"Go on," he says eagerly. "Open!" Dad chuckles and pulls his gift out of the Wal-Mart bag. It's a wallet. My brow furrows as Dada's eyes get sad. Why would he get sad over a wallet? I don't get it. Dad's thumb runs across what I guess is really soft leather and he sighs.

"I've been needing a wallet," Dad says softly. "Thank you." Papa nods happily and looks pointedly at me and Al. I laugh nervously and examine my bag. A stuffed animal of some kind is wrapped up in the grey bag. The bag conceals it enough that I can't tell what kind of animal it is, though. Huh. I guess Papa really does think me and Al are babies. I pull the bag off the animal and take a good look at it. It's a stuffed tiger. It's bigger than Lamby is, but not by like a whole lot. It's really soft and if I were a little kid, I'd be flipping my shit. Al gasps happily, obviously pleased with his gift. He got a stuffed lion, obviously made by the same company.

"I bought these thinking you were much smaller than you are, I'm sorry," Papa apologizes.

"It's okay, Papa," I say quickly. Papa shakes his head.

"My mind just doesn't work like it used to," he says, handing his last bag over to Dad. "I wish I could have gotten you something better."

"I like it, Papa," Al says happily. "It's really soft!"

"Are you serious, Alphonse?" Papa asks. Al nods and I can't help but smile. Of course Al likes it. Al likes everything. And Papa wouldn't know, but Al has always really liked stuffed animals. He's kinda started to grow out of it recently, but he has shown interest in collecting them before. He hasn't talked about it recently that I can remember so I don't think collecting them is on his mind, but I do know that he still likes them.

"Yup," Al chirps. "Stuffed animals are really cute and I know I might be too old, but I still like them." Dada smiles fondly at Al and Papa holds Al's hand in his.

"You are such a sweet boy," Papa comments.

"He really is," Dad replies, holding what I am guessing is Papa's present for Mom. Papa lets go of Al's hand and we talk for a bit longer. Dada never opens the present for Mama, though I keep glancing over at it hoping that he will.

Dad never opened the present Papa got for Mom. We hung out with Papa for a little while after he gave us our presents before heading out to visit Dad's Aunt Edith. She lives in the city itself in an apartment. Apparently a few members of Dad's family are going to come over for dinner. The present for Mom is still wrapped up in the Wal-Mart bag, my eyes naturally drawn to it. I wonder what in the world Papa got for Mom. And why in the world was Dad so sad when Papa gave him a wallet? I really don't get it. I have to admit, Papa seemed way more normal than I expected. At the same time, though, he was really strange. At times, he seemed like just a normal old person. He talked about what life was like when he was young, cracked a few jokes, and offered us candy a lot. But there were times were I could tell his mind slipped away. He'd stare off into space and start talking about things that didn't make sense or he'd ask Dad where his kids were. Papa couldn't remember that today was Christmas, regardless of how often Dada said it was. He couldn't remember giving us our presents and greeted us like it was the first time he saw us all day a lot. He even started speaking really hurriedly in German to Dad about something and it took Dad a while to calm him down. It was around then that Dad suggested we leave. It was really weird. I hope Dada never gets Alzheimer's. The disease really ruins people and I understand why Dad never takes us up here to see him. It is super depressing.

"Dad?" Al asks from the backseat.

"What's the matter, Al?" Dad replies in question.

"Did you not like what Papa gave you?" Al asks innocently. Dad shakes his head, a sad sigh leaving his lips.

"Oh, it's nothing like that," Dada answers sadly. "It's just he gets me a wallet every year for Christmas."

"How come?" I ask, interested.

"The year he got Alzheimer's, I told him I really needed a wallet so he got me one for Christmas that year," Dad explains. "That year tends to be the year his brain gets stuck on a lot, so he constantly thinks that I need a wallet."

"Oh," Al breathes.

"Are you gonna open what Papa got for Mom?" I ask. Dad shrugs.

"I don't know, Ed, maybe," Dad replies. "It's just, you know, we should be happy on Christmas and if I open something meant for Trish…. I don't know."

"Mom would want us to be happy," Al says. "So if opening Papa's present makes you sad, we shouldn't do it." Dad nods and we fall silent. He makes a turn and I decide to say,

"I understand why you stopped taking us to visit Papa."

"You do?" Dad asks.

"Yeah," I say sadly. "It's sad when he loses himself when we're talking to him."

"Loses himself," Dad muses sadly. "That's a good way of putting it, Ed."

"I don't know how else to say it, honestly," I laugh weakly.

"It is sorta like Papa just disappears sometimes," Al adds. "But, you know, Dada, even though it's sad, I wanna visit him more often. He's really nice and even though he's only gonna get worse, I wanna get to know him before it gets so bad he's nothing like he used to be." Dada's chin quivers and he nods.

"You are so mature sometimes, Al," he praises softly. "If that's what you boys want, we'll do it. We'll visit more often."

"Cool," I say, looking out my window. The sky is getting darker as we approach Aunt Edith's apartment and I realize I'm not anxious. I'm not scared. I'm excited to meet a part of my family I haven't seen in a long time.

"What's Christmas with your family like, Dad?" Al asks.

"We have dinner together and just spend time together afterword," Dad replies happily. "We drink coffee, share stories, and exchange gifts between those who brought them. It's a lot quieter than Christmas at Nana Elric's, that's for sure." I huff.

"That's partially 'cause you have less family than the Elric side," I scoff. Dad laughs – his dad laugh that makes me feel warm inside – and nods.

"Oh, I suppose that's true," Dada agrees. He parks the car and goes on, "Well, we're here. You boys okay?" I nod and so does Al.

"I'm a little anxious, but I'll be okay," Al says. "I'm with you." Dad nods and I can tell he's proud of Al.

"Then let's go," he says. We get out of the car, the sun almost completely gone by the time we reach the door.

I was scared that I had lost my Christmas spirit when I was a little kid. I was afraid that the abuse had killed that part of me and that no matter how much better I got or what happened, that part of me would never come back. Today, though, I think I learned that part of me survived. When I was sitting at Aunt Edith's table, laughing at her weird stories and meeting more of Dad's family, I felt that Christmas feeling I was terrified I couldn't feel anymore. I was hardly anxious all night and for the first time in a long time, I felt normal. I felt like myself. We had dinner, only about twenty other people joining us. Dada smiled and drank and told stories, and occasionally I even chimed in and told my own. Al was silly and the whole family enjoyed seeing us at Christmas for once. Al fell asleep almost as soon as we got in the car, but I watched as Chicago disappeared in our rearview mirror. Turns out the aquarium is closed on Christmas. But who cares. We'll come back and when we do, we'll go. I'm sure of it.


	37. It's Only Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter break can be a real snooze-fest, can't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning cutting is discussed in this chapter.

Dr. Hughes doesn't host the group during winter break. He says he wants us to just "enjoy" our winter break and group might hinder our ability to do so. I guess I get where he's coming from. Group hasn't been exactly a treat for me and Al recently. All it's done is stress us out and make us relive the absolute worst parts of our lives. That's a good thing, though. At least, I think it's a good thing. I feel like I've gotten better since I've started telling my story, but that could all be in my head. I could really be getting worse and worse and I wouldn't have a clue. Of course, all this shit is in my head during pancake breakfast day. It's Monday. I shouldn't even be worrying about Wednesday or the lack of group or anything like that. All I should be doing is eating my pancakes and listen to Dad complain about how the day after Christmas is slowly becoming exactly like Black Friday and God – he hates Black Friday. Granny and Dada always go shopping together the day after Christmas 'cause everything is marked down. Me and Al just hung out with Winry and the rest of the weekend was pretty boring. I mean, we didn't have therapy this week since Christmas was on a Friday and Saturday was the day after Christmas so really it was just Sunday that was boring.

We didn't do much after breakfast this morning. I both love and hate winter break 'cause there's freaking nothing to do. I mean, that's nice for a couple of days but when it's the second week of nothing, it kinda gets old. If it snowed or something, at least we'd have something to do. But we haven't been that lucky, yet. It sucks 'cause all I do is sit on the couch, usually in my pajamas, and stare at the TV. I don't even put on Netflix or anything anymore. Al doesn't seem too bothered by nothing, but he always finds a way to entertain himself where I just can't seem to. I sleep mostly. God, I hate winter break. Anyway, it's the afternoon so we're on our way to see Dr. Hughes. I really don't know what I'm gonna talk about today, honestly. I mean, Christmas went really well and I did like meeting Papa so what should I talk about? Maybe since there's no group this week, I could talk about the abuse. I shudder. Never mind. Don't wanna do that. I don't wanna be anxious and upset. I'd rather be bored and in my underwear at home than anxious. Being anxious is the worst. We walk into the building and Dada signs us in. The kids rush over as always and Dad joins in on the "mom talk". I don't get why he calls it that when he's not a mom. I guess it's 'cause moms usually do most of the parenting and, well, we really haven't had someone like that since Mom died. So he does the parent talk that moms usually do. I wonder what the topic is today. Not that I care, but you know. I just need to know he's not talking about me or any of my issues. But I really don't care. Really, I don't.

We only wait for about ten minutes. I was tempted to listen in on Dada's "mom talk", but I never did 'cause I don't care what he says. I really don't. Dr. Hughes comes to get us and Al and me go back with him. I still don't know what I'm gonna talk about. Maybe Al has something on his mind. He's been kinda weird since Christmas. Not like super weird, but just kinda quiet and withdrawn. I figure he's just tired. He hasn't really been sleeping well. And I don't just mean nightmares, either. He's been lying awake at night, just staring at the ceiling. So that's why Al's been so weird – he's exhausted. We make it to Dr. Hughes' office and Al flops down in a chair. Dr. Hughes chuckles lightly and sits down in front of Al and I sit next to my brother. Al yawns loudly and Dr. Hughes asks,

"Tired?" Al nods sleepily.

"Yeah," he replies. "I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Nightmares?" Dr. Hughes asks. Al shakes his head.

"Insomnia, mostly," Al answers. "I mean, I have nightmares, but I can't seem to fall asleep at night to begin with."

"Does sleeping make you anxious?" Dr. Hughes asks and I scoff softly. Of course it does. It always does. At least, it makes me anxious. I'm so terrified of having nightmares or pissing myself or even sleep walking (not that I do that very much anymore, but still) that I don't even wanna sleep. But usually I'm so tired since I don't sleep that I fall asleep anyway. It sucks. Al nods quietly beside me.

"Yeah," he admits. "I get so scared that if I have an accident or I have a bad dream, Dada will get mad at me or Ed will get mad and…. I don't know. I mean, I've always been anxious about sleeping but for some reason it's really bad right now."

"Al, you know your family would never get angry at you for anything that happens at night," Dr. Hughes assures him. "That stuff is beyond your control. You don't do it on purpose."

"I know," Al sighs. "It's just… a couple weeks ago Dad was really frustrated with me when I couldn't fall asleep after I had a bad dream. I guess it stuck with me and I haven't really been sleeping well since." Huh. Al's never told me that. I remember blowing up at Dada for being frustrated and he apologized but I guess it hurt Al's feelings and Al didn't tell anyone. Typical Al, I guess.

"Getting frustrated is natural," Dr. Hughes tells him. "Don't you get frustrated with yourself when those issues arise?" Al nods and Dr. Hughes says, "How have you been dealing with those feelings?" Al shudders and my heart starts to beat funny.

"Not well," Al admits quietly, his chin quivering. He shakes his head and I lean forward in my seat.

"Al," I breathe, "What did you do?" Al starts heaving.

"I'm s-sorry," he struggles.

"Breathe, Al," Dr. Hughes instructs. "Calm down before you say anything." Al struggles to breathe and I shake my head.

"You didn't," I say, my voice shaking. "Please tell me you didn't. Please tell me you didn't hurt yourself." Al's still heaving, gasping loudly as he tries to breathe.

"I…. I tr-tried not t-to," Al pants. "R-Really!"

"Show me," I demand, forgetting Dr. Hughes is sitting there. Al shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes and I shout, "Show me!"

"Ed, calm down," Dr. Hughes says calmly. "Yelling won't help."

"Don't tell me what to do!" I yell. "Al's hurting himself! He's cutting! He needs to show me!"

"Please, try to breathe, Ed," Dr. Hughes tries again. "Getting angry won't help your brother." Al takes a haggard breath and rolls his sleeves up. My eyes widen as I examine Al's arms. Oh, my God, it's bad. It's like me when I was thirteen bad. His forearms have a shit-ton of cuts, some long, some short. Some are scabbed over and healing, others are pink and raw. He's got some Band-Aids on his skin, probably hiding the most recent ones. I shake my head, my tongue running across my lips.

"Oh, Al," I manage to say, my throat feeling like rubber. "Al, why?" Al rubs desperately at his eyes, smearing tears all over his face.

"I-I'm s s-s-sorry!" Al wails pathetically. "I w-w-wanna st-stop! I d-don't w-wanna c-cut!"

"Is that why you've kept it hidden, Al?" Dr. Hughes asks as I stare at Al's arms. My little brother feels so badly about himself that he thinks hurting himself is the only solution. I know from experience that only time really heals that, but God do I wish I could heal it for him.

It kills me that Al feels this way. Like, I feel like there's a weight on my chest. I'm still kinda in disbelief, even though I can see his arms with my own eyes. You know, I had noticed that Al stopped getting dressed in our room after showers. I noticed that he was always wearing long sleeves. Always. Granted, it's winter, but still. He sometimes wears a short sleeved t-shirt to bed but hasn't for a while. I've noticed him scratching at his arms, but figured he just had dry skin. I had no idea that he was scratching at healing scabs. And you know what? I should have. He's told me how shitty he feels. He's told me that he's in the low place – that after all the progress he's made recently he still wishes he was dead. I know that right now he hates himself. I should have recognized the signs. I've seen them in myself and I've failed Al by not realizing what was going on. Or maybe I was in denial. Maybe I didn't want to believe that Al was really feeling that badly about himself. Either way, I failed to protect him.

"Yeah," Al whimpers, wiping his face. "I d-didn't w-want to w-w-worry Br-Brother or D-Dada with it. I m-mean, it's only m-me." It's only me. Is that really how Al feels? I shake my head, unwilling to accept that my little brother actually feels that badly about himself.

"Al, you are worth worrying about," Dr. Hughes says gently. "You know that I have to tell your dad you're cutting, right?" Al nods, his lip trembling pathetically.

"Yeah, b-but I d-d-don't w-want you to," Al cries softly. "He'll g-get m-m-mad."

"He won't," I butt in. I gently take Al's hand in mine, my thumb rubbing the back of it and I say, "He'll worry and he might freak out a bit, but he won't get mad. He never got mad at me when I was cutting. He just worried. Promise." Al nods, tears rolling down his face.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpers.

"It's okay," I comfort. "It's okay. We have to work harder so you don't hurt yourself anymore. I don't want you to go through this. It's hell." Al nods.

"Al, you should try some of the alternatives Ed uses when he wants to cut," Dr. Hughes tells him. "He rubs ice on his skin or uses a pen to mark all over his arms when he feels like he wants to cut."

"I also like to rip up paper or color," I add. "It sounds stupid, but it really helps." Al nods again.

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Al, it's alright," Dr. Hughes says. "You did a good thing by admitting to us you've been hurting yourself. That takes a lot of courage. I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of you, too," I tell him. "It took me forever to admit I was cutting. It looks like you've only been doing it for a couple of weeks. You're so brave, Al."

"I am?" Al asks miserably.

"You are," I say, smiling gently at him. Dr. Hughes stands and puts a hand on Al's shoulder.

"I need to go tell your dad," Dr. Hughes says. Al nods.

"Okay but…. But could I do it instead of you?" Al says. Dr. Hughes smiles – that dad smile that makes me feel safe – and nods.

"Of course you can," Dr. Hughes replies. "I'll go get him." Al nods and Dr. Hughes leaves. Al's still heaving slightly, trying desperately to get his breathing under control.

"How long have you been cutting?" I ask softly. Al shrugs, still breathing erratically.

"I-I don't kn-know," Al stutters. He lowers his head and says very quietly, "S-Since Th-Thanks…. Thanksgiving." He cringes and says, "P-Please don't be m-mad." I shake my head and start rubbing his back.

"I'm not mad, Brother," I assure him. "I'm sad that you think this is the only way to deal with all the shit you're going through. I'm sad I never caught on or recognized the signs even though I've been there. I'm so sorry, Al, that you're going through this." Al nods, his eyes glued to the floor. The door opens, Dr. Hughes and a very worried looking Dada walking in. Dr. Hughes shuts the door and they both sit down, Dad looking anxiously at Al.

"Okay, Al," Dr. Hughes says, "I didn't tell your dad anything. You have the floor, buddy." Al swallows nervously, an anxious whimper escaping his lips. Dad leans forward in his seat as I grab Al's hand.

"Go ahead, Al," I encourage. "It's okay. You're not in trouble."

"What's going on, Al?" Dad asks worriedly. "Are you okay? You're beginning to scare me." Al shake his head, tears beginning to roll down his face.

"I'm s-sorry, D-Dada," Al whimpers pathetically. "I…. I've b-been c-c-cutting s-since Th-Thanksgiving." Dad straightens his back, his eyes wide.

"What?" He breaths, Al breaking down. He starts sobbing and I squeeze his hand as Al wails,

"I-I'm s-so s-s-sorry, Dada! I'm s-s-so s-sorry!" Dad shakes his head and engulfs Al in a hug.

"Oh, honey," Dad says softly, petting Al's hair as Al cries into Dada's shoulder. "Honey, why? Why would you hurt yourself? I don't understand, sweetie." Al just cries and Dr. Hughes sighs softly.

"Victor, you know that people being to self-harm when they feel like there's no other way to deal with their negative feelings," Dr. Hughes explains. "Al has a lot of pent-up feelings that considering his age and long list of traumas that he can't deal with. He's only fourteen, Victor. Dealing with what he has to deal with at fourteen is overwhelming." Dad nods, kissing Al's hair.

"I know," Dad replies. Of course Dad knows. Dad got the same talk when I admitted to cutting when I was thirteen. I'm, like, 90% sure it's the same exact talk, actually. I shake my head. Whatever – that doesn't matter. What matters is Al.

"It's going to be okay, Victor," Dr. Hughes assures him. "You'll get through this just like you did when Ed was cutting. You'll do it as a family. You'll do it as a unit and help Al get passed this problem."

"D-Daddy," Al whimpers, "Dad, I d-don't w-w-wanna d-do it an-anymore! I d-d-don't w-wanna h-h-hurt myself!"

"Oh, baby, I know," Dad comforts gently, "I know you don't. We'll get through it, honey. We will. It'll be okay."

"P-Please d-d-don't b-be mad, D-Dada," Al begs pathetically.

"I'm not mad at you," Dad promises, still gently petting Al's hair. "I'm not mad. It's just a roadblock, Al, that's all. If I got mad, I wouldn't be able to help you get passed it properly." I grin – Dad's really getting good at helping us. I mean, he's always been good, but at first he didn't know how to react to shit like this. I know 'cause I didn't get this reaction when I told him I was cutting.

When I first told him about me cutting, Dad lost it. He wasn't really mad, but he didn't know how to handle it and kinda forgot that I really didn't know how to deal with it, either. That was kinda why I was cutting to begin with. I remember crying 'cause I felt so dirty and guilty that I was using razors to hurt myself on purpose and all Dad could do was yell and ask me why I would do something like that. Didn't I know it hurt the family? Didn't I know how that affected everyone around me? Didn't I know better? Of course I knew all that. I was thirteen – I wasn't stupid. I knew what I was doing affected more than just me. I knew it was hurting everyone around me when I hurt myself or when I set fires. I knew all that. Dad has apologized to me for reacting that way but I'll never forget how angry he got. But I'll also never forget how he came along side me and encouraged me to stop. I'll never forget the many times I locked myself in the bathroom, a blade hovering over my skin, and Dada talking to me gently outside the door to calm me down. I'll never forget how special Dad treated me when I was cutting, how special he made me feel. How loved he made me feel. I'll never forget any of that. And I know Dad's gonna do all that for Al. He has to or Al will never get better.

"I'm sorry," Al cries, Dad petting his hair and rubbing his back. "I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay, baby," Dada coos gently in Al's ear. "It's okay."  
"See, Al?" I ask, Al glancing over at me. He blinks and I grin toothily at him. "I told ya Dada wouldn't be mad." Al smiles weakly, a laugh escaping him and for the first time since Al admitted to hurting himself, I remember that Al's gonna be okay.

Dad sits in for the rest of therapy 'cause Al's being kinda clingy. Just like when I was cutting, Dr. Hughes as the whole family come up with a plan of action to stop Al from cutting. It's pretty basic. It basically outlines alternatives to self-harm, what to do when Al does it, and how to reward him when he goes for a long time without doing it. It also talks about putting locks on the drawers where we keep knives and hiding razors and scissors and shit like that. We all sign it, Al declaring that he wants to be clean by the time his birthday comes around. Dr. Hughes praised him, saying that setting goals is a good way to stick by the plan. Dad decided that little presents and one-on-one time with him would be Al's reward for not cutting, just like me. Those were my rewards and I gotta admit – it worked. I liked it when I hadn't cut for a week and Dada bought me that book I was looking at in Wal-Mart. I liked when I had been clean for a month so Dada took me – just me – to the movies or out to dinner. That really worked for me so I know it'll work for Al. Dad also had to promise to not punish Al when he cut. Dr. Hughes says that's a mistake lots of parents make. They punish their kid for doing it instead of trying to help their kid through the problem that's causing the cutting to begin with. Considering Dad never punished me when I did it (he mostly just looked like he was gonna cry every time I told him I cut after being clean), I figured that he wasn't gonna punish Al, either. Al got to help write the plan 'cause Dr. Hughes believes in letting kids have input in their treatment. He knows how important feeling like you have control is so he let Al help. I could see it in Al's face that he really liked helping write it and I could also tell how determined Al was to stop. It's not like anyone enjoys cutting so he's going to do his very best to stop before it gets out of control like mine did.

After therapy we grabbed some dinner and went home. Since there's no school, Al and me don't have homework and Dada doesn't have grading. That's what's so boring about winter break. Those days in between Christmas and New Year's are so damn boring. There's nothing to do. Go to the mall? What's the point – the mall's the same as it was the last time. Once you've gone once, you've seen it all. Go to the movies? It's boring after you've gone once and honestly, there's nothing good out right now anyways. Sleep? Don't even get me started on sleep. What we usually do is put on Netflix and talk until one of us decides to get ready for bed. Half the time we don't even watch whatever we put on. We just ignore it to talk to one another. When school's happening, Dada works a lot so Al and I never get to really just talk to him. I guess that's one good thing about winter break – we get to spend some quality time with Dad. After about an hour of watching Netflix, our home phone rings. I groan, Dad going to answer it.

"Hello?" Dad says, a smile creeping across his face. "Oh, alright. One moment." He lowers the receiver and looking at me. I stare pointedly at him.

"What?" I demand.

"It's Ling," Dada tells me. "He wants to talk to you." I groan again – I know what this is about. I stand up and take the phone from Dad and exhale forcefully before putting the phone to my ear and saying,

"What's up, Ling?" I ask like I don't already know.

"This is yours and Al's official invitation to my annual New Year's sleepover," Ling announces like he's on a game show. I grimace; Ling always has a sleepover on New Year's Eve to bring in the New Year. I've been invited to it every year since I was, oh, I don't know…. Ten? I guess that's right. Anyway, I've always turned him down 'cause for some of that time I was being abused and wasn't allowed to go and now me and Al have so many sleeping issues that we turn him down so the sleepover doesn't turn into a "make fun of Ed and Al" fest.

"Ling," I begin, Ling beginning to talk instantly and cutting me off,

"Before you say anything I'm downgrading." My brow furrows.

"Huh?" I ask, Al watching me from the couch as I sit down on a chair, "What do you mean?"  
"I'm only inviting a couple people besides you and Al," Ling tells me.

"Who?" I ask curiously.

"Winry, Lan Fan, Rose, and Paninya," Ling answers. "I thought maybe if it was a smaller crowd, you and Al would actually wanna come." I feel bad. Every year I turn him down and I figured eventually Ling would think it's 'cause I don't like hanging out with him which isn't the case at all. I mean, yeah, Ling can get on my nerves but he is my friend. He's been my friend since about third grade, even when I was smelly or acted weird. He and Rose were my friends even when no one else but Winry wanted to be and I feel so freaking guilty that I constantly turn them down when they invite me to do stuff. I know that soon, they're both gonna get sick of me saying no and stop inviting me and that's the last thing I want. I'm finally getting better now. If they stopped inviting me, it'd be right at a time in my life where I'm almost ready to say yes. That would be devastating for both me and Al. I gnaw on my lip anxiously, Ling saying,

"Look, dude, I don't know why you've always said no but this is gonna be fun, I promise. It'll just be the seven of us, maybe Mei if she wants to hang out, too, and there won't be any beer or shit like that. We'll just hang out and drink soda and play video games, I promise." I look over at Dada who seems like he kinda wants me to go but also knows the risks of us going.

"I, uh, maybe," I stammer anxiously. "Let me, um, ask Dad, hold on." I quickly lower the phone, all color probably gone from my face.

"What's the matter?" Al asks worriedly.

"Ling invited us to his New Year's sleepover," I explain, Al's face falling.

"Oh," he sighs. He flops on the couch and says, "Figures." I turn to Dada, pleading with my eyes for him to just tell me what to do and say so I don't have to actually do it.

"What should we do, Dada?" I ask miserably. "I do wanna go but…." Dad nods so I don't have to finish talking.

"Look, Ed," Dad begins, "I know how humiliating it would be for something to happen while sleeping over at Ling's house, but if he's really your friend he won't tease you. I have a feeling he is considering how long he's stuck around. I mean, he was your friend when Vanes… she was around and never left your side, even when no one else wanted to play with you. He's been a good friend to you all these years and I think you should go. There's ways we can avoid complications." I lower my eyes. Yeah, annoying and stupid as he is, Ling has been a good friend. When we were in middle school, there was a day after gym where I just snapped. I cried and cried in the locker room and instead of teasing me or just leaving me there, Ling got a tardy just like I did and sat with me. He didn't say anything and he didn't even ask why I was crying. He just stayed. I've never thanked him for that. I've never thanked him for all the birthday cards, all the silly things he's done for me, or all the party invites. Maybe going to this sleepover, despite everything that could go wrong, could be my way of thanking him.

"Ed," Al pipes up, "I think maybe you should go but I should stay home." Instantly I shake my head.

"No way," I tell him. "It's both of us or none of us. That's the way it's always been. Al, I have just as much to lose by going. I could have the same exact problems you'd have if you slept over so we either both go or I don't go at all." Al smiles weakly at me.

"Thanks," he says. "I kinda had a feeling you'd say that and I'm glad you did. I wanna go, too." I nod and bring the phone back up to my face.

"You still there?" I ask.

"Yep," Ling replies. I take a deep breath and say,

"We'll be there."

I can't believe I told Ling yes. I mean, I wanna go, but at the same time it's like playing Russian roulette or something. Our sleeping issues can be sporadic or they can be constant. There's no in between really. I mean, we always have nightmares, but some weeks we have way more than other weeks. Some weeks we have night terrors and some weeks we don't. Some weeks I only wet the bed one day or not at all and other weeks it's every flipping night. Lately, it's been a way more constant. Al and me have had a terrible couple of weeks sleeping wise and I know it won't take a break for Ling's sleepover. I roll over on my side and sigh. What's gonna happen on Thursday when the inevitable happens? I know Ling and Rose and all those guys are good people and they are my friends. But that doesn't mean that when something happens to me or Al (or, God forbid, both of us) they won't laugh. That they won't pity us. That they won't think we're disgusting or loud. That they won't start treating us differently than they do right now. One of the best things about having friends who don't know I was abused is that they treat me like I'm normal. They don't treat me like I'm fragile or weak or like I'm a time bomb that's gonna go off any second. When (not if, when) something happens at Ling's house, that all will change. I mean, they won't know I was abused, but they'll know a piece of me that I never wanted them to and everything will change.

I sit up suddenly, my stomach turning and my heart pounding. I could cancel. I could back out. I could call tomorrow and say no. Or, I could call the day of and fake being sick. Yeah, the fake sick thing works. I shake my head and groan, falling back onto my pillow. God, I can't do that. Not to my friends. That would be an awful thing to do to them. I mean, they only wanna spend time with me. I shouldn't take that away from them 'cause I'm a big baby who can't sleep at night. But, will we be friends when something happens at the sleepover and they learn one of my deepest secrets? I groan, rolling over forcefully and hugging Lamby tight. Okay, maybe I just stay up all night. But what about Al? Al'll probably get tired around midnight and if he drinks too much soda with the thought it'll keep him up all night…. So, Al has to sleep then. Okay, so he just doesn't have anything to drink two hours before bedtime and pees beforehand. Okay, but what if he just crashes? Or what if he just wakes up screaming? We might be able to lower the chance he'll have an accident but we can't really do anything about the nightmares. I roll over again. God, this shouldn't be so complicated. We should just be able to go to Ling's sleepover and not have to worry about this shit. But we do 'cause life sucks.

"Ed?" I sit up quickly and turn the light on next to my bed. Al's sitting up, too, and he looks over at me.

"What?" I ask. Al shrugs.

"Guess I just wanted to see if you were still awake," he tells me. I chuckle weakly.

"Can't sleep, huh?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yeah," he replies. "There's a lot on my mind." I pat my bed, encouraging Al to come over and sit by me.

"Same," I say, Al getting out of his bed and sitting down next to me. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Well, I…." Al trails off, his tongue sliding over his lips. "I must be the most selfish person for even thinking this way, but I sorta want to back out of the sleepover." I sigh.

"You, too, huh?" I ask, Al nodding.

"Uh-huh," Al answers.

"It's not selfish," I defend quickly.

"It's not?" Al questions.

"No," I reply confidently. "It's completely understandable considering what we go through at nighttime. We don't want anyone to think differently about us or laugh or anything like that."

"Yeah, but we never do anything with anyone except Winry 'cause of what we go through and our anxiety and a whole laundry list of things that sometimes feel like excuses," Al points out. He sighs deeply and shakes his head. "I don't know. It just feels selfish since we don't invite them to do anything and I wanna back out again."

"I understand," I tell him. "I guess it does feel kinda selfish but it's not like they understand. And sure, we could tell them everything but it's not like they would understand then, either. They might empathize but they can never understand. You can't unless you've lived it and I am so glad none of our friends ever have."

"But what if they have and, like us, never told anyone 'cause they're scared of everything we are," Al suggests. I shake my head.

"Then…. God, I don't know. I guess they would understand but the chances of that are slim to none." I reply. Al chuckles darkly.

"Yeah, I know," Al says. "So, what do you think, Brother? Do we still go even with the cold feet?" I swallow nervously and nod.

"We should go," I answer. "It'll be fun 'til the sleeping part happens and even then, we might, you know, get lucky and have nothing happen."

"Yeah, right," Al scoffs. "Like that'll happen."

"Hey," I say, "Try to be positive. You're good at that."

"I guess so," Al sighs. "It's just hard to be positive when you know the odds."

"Yeah, it sucks balls, but hey, at least we'll have some fun," I joke darkly. Al lies down so I do, too. He hugs me, lowering his head into my shoulder. His tremor gets worse so I anxiously ask, "You okay?"

"What if they laugh at me?" Al asks pathetically. I sigh and start to pet his hair.

"Then they laugh," I answer. Al whimpers so I say, "And I beat them up." Al giggles and I smirk. That's right, Al. Laugh. Don't think about our friends laughing at you because of shit you can't control. Laugh and relax and finally go to sleep. C'mon, kiddo – fall asleep. Al's shaking slows down and he snuggles closer to me.

"You'd really beat them up?" Al asks with a yawn.

"Yup," I reply. "I'd beat them up and make 'em cry instead of laugh."

"That's mean, Brother," Al yawns.

"It's mean to laugh in the first place, Al," I point out. Al giggles again.

"Mmm, I guess," he says sleepily. I shake my head, Al's breathing deepening as he finally goes to sleep. I sigh and stare at the ceiling. If anyone laughs, I really will beat them up. Unless, of course, they're laughing at me and then, well, I don't have a clue what I'll do.


	38. Ling's New Year's Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture this - a bunch of lame white kids dancing to outdated rap and hip-hop music getting straight-up turnt. That is Ling's sleepover.

It's noon and Winry's here. She came over with lunch for everyone which was a nice surprise. I guess she brought lunch over 'cause she's kinda worried about me and Al. Last night, I called her all panicked about the sleepover tonight. I rambled for, like, an hour about worst case scenarios and made no damn sense half the time. She was a good listener and said all the right things at all the right times so there's that. But Winry tends to worry so I think that's part of why she came over. She wants to keep us as calm as possible before the big event. I pick at my food and sigh. I'm still thinking of those worst-case scenarios. I'm still tempted to back out. I'm still tempted to just curl up in my bed and die instead of sleeping over at Ling's house. Dad has been trying to calm me down all day by saying everything will be fine and they're my friends and all that shit. And yeah, sure, they're my friends until I wake up screaming or I piss myself and then what? Kinda doubt they'll be my friends after anything like that happens. I glance around, Winry chatting with Dada and Al. Well, at least Winry will still be my friend after tonight. I mean, she likes me enough to bring me lunch when she knows I'm anxious. That means we'll still be friends after anything that'll happen tonight. Winry stands and I follow her with my head.

"Be right back," she says. I watch her leave and lean over the table to talk to Dad.

"Okay, so let's just not go," I say. Dad gives me a look and I get frantic. "I don't wanna go anymore! It's not worth it! I just wanna stay home and keep my friends!" Al looks worriedly at me and Dad simply shakes his head.

"Okay, let's talk about this," Dad sighs. He cleans his glasses briefly before saying, "I know you're anxious, but, Ed, you've made a commitment and you need to stick to it."

"But, Dada –" Dad holds his hand up and cuts me off.

"Edward," he says gently. "It'll be okay. Let's talk about the sleepover and make you feel better about going. Al had some ideas and I think we can work it out so even if something happens, we can be discrete and no feelings will get hurt." My brow furrows.

"What kind of ideas?" I ask.

"Well, uh, I was thinking that if we chicken out of sleeping over, we can call Dada and he come get us at midnight so we're still at the party for a little while, but won't sleep at Ling's house," Al tells me. I nod. I like that. I like that a lot.

"What else?" I ask.

"I never thought of what to do if we have a bad dream 'cause there's really nothing to do, but I thought that if we do sleep over, Winry could help us in the event we… well, we…." Al blushes really hard and shakes his head; "Well, you know."

"Huh?" I ask.

"Al was thinking that Winry could help with the clean-up process so no one else would even know," Dada elaborates. I blush and Dad goes on, "She already knows, honey. It's not like we've told her and asked her to help. She already knows so Al just thought you boys could recruit her to help in the event of an accident."  
"I don't know," I say nervously. "I mean, if she gets up when we do it works great but she sleeps like the dead. What if someone wakes up before her? What if, God forbid, we cry? I mean, there's so much that could go wrong!"

"Calm down, Ed," Dad says gently. I swallow anxiously and Dad smiles at me. "Honey, there are other things we could do for the bed wetting."

"Like what?" I ask miserably. "C'mon, Dad, face it – we can't go. Too much is gonna go wrong."

"Sweetie, you're just anxious," Dad tells me. "You and Al can, and should, go. I thought that maybe if you go pee every two hours and stop drinking as close to two hours before you fall asleep as you can, it should help."

"Didn't help at Winry's," I mumble, recalling that sleepover we had months ago where I had a dream about the fucking fence and soaked the bed. Yeah, that was fun. Dada gives me a sympathetic look and I glare at him.

"Come on, Ed," Dad sighs, shaking his head. "Try to be optimistic. You're anxious and that's why you feel like everything that can go wrong will go wrong."

"Whatever," I grumble, crossing my arms.

"Edward," Dad says. "Ed, I did think of something else we could do but I need to ask you about it first?"

"What?" I demand, getting irritated. "D'you want me and Al to take our stupid alarms with us so everyone'll wake up?! Seems like a fantastic idea to me!"

"Ed," Al pipes up weakly, "Please be nice. Dada's just trying to help." I shake my head – yeah, I know that. I should be nice but, God! It's hard to be nice when I know nothing Dada's gonna say will help.

"We could try underpads or something disposable so all you'll have to do is change your pajamas and go back to sleep," Dad suggests and I glare at him.

"No," I say shortly. Dada sighs.

"Ed –"

"I said no! We're not doing that!" I yell. "She made Al do that for years and it messed him up! No!" Dada shakes his head.

"Honey, you're shooting down every suggestion we're giving you," Dada informs me.

"Uh, duh!" I retort. "I can't believe you'd even bring something like that up! You know she used those stupid things to abuse Al since he was four! How could you say that?"

"Ed, please calm down," Dad says softly. "I didn't suggest it to hurt Al. I would never do that. It was just an idea so you could decide for yourself what you're going to do. But, Ed, you already told Ling you're going so you need to go." I shake my head, heaving angrily.

"Brother, it's okay," Al says quietly. "It's okay. Dada wasn't trying to be mean to me. It's okay."

"How are you so chill about this?!" I demand loudly, Al shaking violently.

"Edward, that's enough," Dad says sternly, pulling Al into his side. "You need to calm down. You're going to scare your brother and I know you don't want to do that." I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

"Sorry," I mumble. "It's just…. I don't know."

"Honey, you don't have to take any of my suggestions if you truly don't want to," Dad tells me. "I just wanted to make sure you know you have options. I want you to go to this sleepover and I know you wanna go, too." I nod, staring at my food.

"I wanna go," I grumble. "This isn't fair, Dada." Dad shakes his head.

"I know," Dad says softly, Winry coming back in.

"What's not fair?" She asks, sitting down.

"Never mind," I tell her. "Doesn't matter."

"It matters to me," Winry insists. I grind my teeth.

"You really wanna know?" I ask.

"Yeah," Winry says.

"Fine," I snap. "It's not fucking fair that me and Al can't do a single damn thing like normal people."

"Ed, don't use that word," Dad scolds and I glare at him.

"Oh, I guess that isn't fair," Winry says sadly. I clench my jaw and stare angrily at my food.

"Brother," Al asks quietly. I look over at him and he says, "Do you even wanna go anymore?"

"Course I wanna go," I reply. "It just pisses me off that we have to plan for every little thing instead of just throwing some clothes in a bag and leaving."

"Okay, so let's just think about all the good stuff about going," Winry suggests cheerfully. I glare at her as Al nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, Ed!" Al cries. "Let's do that instead! It'll make you feel better!" I cross my arms.

"Doubt it," I scoff. Dad shoots me a look.

"Don't be that way," Dada tells me. "Just give it a try. It might actually help."

"I'll go first," Winry says. "We'll get free pizza." I shake my head as Al says,

"Oh, and free soda!"

"Free junk food in general," Winry laughs, Al nodding along with her.

"Movie marathon with our friends," Al chirps happily.

"Lots of video games," Winry goes on and I feel myself smile.

"Al getting slap-happy," I add, Winry cheering loudly.

"See?!" She cries, "I told you you'd feel better!" I laugh at her, Dada shaking his head at us. Okay – sleeping for me and Al sucks right now. But I gotta admit that all the other stuff about sleeping over makes me wanna go even though I know just how much can go wrong.

The sleepover starts at six. Winry plays video games with us for a while after lunch before Dada comes in and tells me and Al to start packing. We voted against the whole disposable clothing thing (obviously) so we're just packing three extra sets of pajamas on top of the ones we're gonna put on when everyone decides to sleep. After I had calmed down thanks to Winry and Al, I told them that I wanted to do as much as we physically can to prevent the whole bed wetting thing entirely, but in the event it happens, I wanna call Dada and go home. Al wants to do that, too, and he said he might even chicken out of sleeping over at Ling's all together. I told him that if he chickens out, I will, too. But if for some reason I piss myself and don't wanna go home after the fact, I agreed to let Winry discreetly help me clean it up with the idea no one else will even know it happened. The likelihood of that succeeding still seem pretty slim in my mind, but I wanna try. I wanna hang out with my friends like a normal kid. I wanna continue to get invites and if I bail on the sleepover part of Ling's party, I'm scared I won't get invites anymore.

At precisely 5:45, Winry tells us we should go downstairs. I nod and stand up, helping Al on to his feet. We grab all our stuff and walk out of our room. I walk down the stairs, swallowing nervously. Oh, God, I'm so anxious about tonight. I didn't even plan on the nightmares-thing that's totally gonna happen. I have nightmares 90% of the time. I'm gonna have one tonight. I know I am. God, what do I do?! Maybe I should back out! That would be easier than going and having a bad dream in front of my friends! Wouldn't it? I don't know! I make it to the bottom of the stairs and see Dad sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper. I hurry over and sit down next to him, Dada lowering the paper.

"Ed?" He asks as I curl up next to him. "What are you doing? Isn't it time to go?"

"I'm not going," I inform him like I'm a little kid. "I changed my mind." I can hear Winry groan but I don't really care. I'm scared. I wanna stay home and sleep with Dad. I don't wanna go to the sleepover that I also so badly wanna go to.

"Are you kidding me, Ed?!" Winry cried, clearly aggravated.

"Winry," Al tries, Winry groaning again.

"Don't be such a baby! C'mon, let's just go! It'll be fun if you'd just give it a try!" Winry snaps.

"Winry, be nice," Al demands softly. "Brother's just nervous. I am, too. He didn't really change his mind. He's just scared." Dada hugs me tight before kissing my forehead.

"Al's right, Brother," Dada tells me gently. "You're just scared. But, sweetie, Winry's right, too. You'll have fun when you go. I know you will. You really haven't changed your mind. I know you still want to go." I nod. I sit up and run a hand through my hair.

"Okay, let's go before I actually chicken out of this whole thing," I say, not looking at Winry. I know she was aggravated because I've been so back and forth today about Ling's stupid sleepover all day, but her comment really bugged me. I don't wanna talk to her, at least not for a while. I'm not a baby. I just act like one sometimes, but I don't mean to. Really. Al takes my hand and we all head to the garage. Winry hurries behind me and Al and I try to make it obvious I'm mad at her without looking at her or talking to her. I get in the front seat after putting my bag in the trunk as Al and Winry get in the back. I buckle my seatbelt and cross my arms, Dada looking worriedly at me.

"Ed, are you okay?" Dad asks me.

"Oh, I'm just peachy, Dada," I grumble. "I'm just a big dumb baby who's pouting about my sleeping issues not only ruining what's supposed to be fun but ruining my friendships all at the same time." Winry looks at her feet guiltily. I put on a big, fake smile and look right at Winry; "But I'm totally fine."

"Look, I'm sorry," Winry says softly. "I shouldn't have called you a baby. I know that I shouldn't call you names and I'm sorry." I stop smiling.

"Whatever," I mutter.

"Hey, I'm sorry, okay?!" Winry cries defensively. "I shouldn't have done it and I don't wanna hurt your feelings! Stop acting like a douche."

"Brother, please don't be mad at Winry," Al begs. I look at my brother, his big hazel eyes burning a hole in me as he says, "Please?" I sigh and shake my head.

"Yeah, okay, I forgive you," I say.

"I really am sorry," Winry tells me softly. "I shouldn't call you guys names. I know what that does to you." I grit my teeth.

"Can we drop it?" I ask heatedly. "I'd rather not have my mind stuck on her all night."

"Sorry," Winry says quietly. I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

"It's okay," I exhale. "I'm just kinda on edge today." Winry smiles weakly.

"But aren't you on edge, like, every day?" Winry teases. I chuckle.

"Shut up."

We pull up to Ling's house and I feel like I'm gonna throw up. I've tried to focus on the good stuff. I've tried to only think about how much fun I'll have. I've told myself all day long that Ling's my friend and that I shouldn't bail on him. But now that his huge house is in front of me, all my fear and worst case scenarios come flooding back. What if someone sees the fresh cuts on Al's skin or the scars on mine and asks about them? What if one of us talks in our sleep and gives away something about our past I've worked so hard to hide? What if one of us has a night terror and it seems like the screaming and kicking will never end? Dad opens his door and gets out of the car. I swallow nervously and get out, too, doing my best to bury the puke fighting to get out. Winry and Al are grabbing our bags and Dada asks if me and Al need him to walk us to the door. I wanna nod and say us, but I can only imagine the image that would give to our friends. Teenagers don't have their daddy walk them to the door at a friend's house, even when they really want or need their dad to. I'd rather not start the night off like that so I say no. Dada smiles at me and gives me a big hug, whispering that I can call him and go home anytime I want, even if it's two in the morning. When he's through hugging me he hugs Al, Al's shaking fingers clinging desperately to Dada's clothes. That hug ends and Dad says good-bye to all of us. We wave at him as he drives away, sweat saturating my shirt. I'm gonna throw up. That's not something I thought would happen, but I'm gonna throw up. Great. Just another thing to go wrong.

"You okay?" Winry asks as we walk toward the front door. I shake my head.

"I think I'm gonna –" I gag and hurry on to the grass so I can puke in the bushes. I cough, vomit splattering everywhere.

"Brother!" Al cries worriedly, hurrying over to me. He rubs my back as I throw up, anxiously asking, "Ed, are you okay? Are you sick?" I cough, the puke ending. I shake my head and wipe sweat from my forehead.

"I'm just anxious buddy," I assure him weakly. "It'll pass." Al doesn't look like he's sure, but he nods. He takes my hand and squeezes it and I look gratefully at him.

"Oh, my God, Ed, I'm so sorry!" Winry cries from the concrete path leading up to Ling's huge ass porch. "I didn't mean to make you sick!" I shake my head and walk back over.

"You didn't," I reply. "I've been feeling like I was gonna barf since we left the house. I knew I was gonna, just didn't know when." Winry looks sympathetically at me.

"I'm still sorry," she tells me.

"It's okay," I insist. "Let's just forget it happened and just get to this sleepover already. The anticipation is freaking killing me." Winry nods and we keep walking. My heart is pounding as we step on to the porch and Winry rings the doorbell. I let go of Al's sweaty hand and look at the door. Okay. No turning back now. The door opens and the night finally can begin.

Ling was ecstatic to see it was us at the door. He kept saying how he couldn't believe that Al and me showed and gave us a tour of his house. Mei's cat, Xiao-Mei, came up to greet Al and I could tell that calmed him down a bit. Ling took us to the basement, Lan Fan sitting on the couch with an Xbox controller in her hand. She greeted us warmly as Ling informed us we're all sleeping in the basement. There's lots of couches and even a futon so Ling figured that the basement would be the best place. My heart beat anxiously as I looked around, memories of my own basement creeping into my brain. I set my bag down and did those breathing exercises Dr. Hughes taught me. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I'm not in my basement at home. She isn't here to hurt me or Al. Winry, Ling, and Lan Fan are here. No one's gonna hurt me. I flopped down on the couch next to Lan Fan and waited with my friends for the last two guests so show up.

Once Rose and Paninya showed up Ling ordered the pizza. We talked mostly while we waited for the pizza to show up, everyone snacking on the chips and candy Ling had sitting out for us. Well, everyone except me and Al, that is. We were both too anxious to eat. No one seemed to notice, though, so that was nice. Ling's phone rang and I assumed as he got up that it was the pizza guy. He left and the conversation shifted toward school. Grades were posted before Christmas but hardly anyone actually looks at those until after Christmas. Everyone talks about how finals went and Lan Fan asks,

"How about you, Ed?" I swallow anxiously and chuckle weakly.

"Fine," I manage to say like anxiety isn't clawing at my stomach and making me feel like I have to barf again. "I got an A on every final I took." Winry scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"The nerd also managed to get 105% on Mr. Armstrong's chemistry final," Winry informs everyone.

"Holy crap, Ed, that's amazing!" Rose comments.

"Don't inflate his head, Rose," Winry instructs. "Ed's a total chemistry freak. There was some five-point bonus question that I didn't even attempt and that's where the 5% comes from."  
"Yeah, but he didn't miss a single question!" Rose enthuses. She turns to me and says, "Good job! Your dad must be proud!"

"I actually haven't told Dada about it, yet," I admit. "Kinda slipped my mind, to be honest."

"How'd you do, Ally?" Paninya asks. Al smiles weakly and shrugs.

"I did okay," Al answers softly. "I mean, I managed to scrape by with a 4.0 so I guess I did fine. I think I only got a B on one final so I did okay."

"That's really good, though, for your first time," Lan Fan tells him. "Good job." Al smiles brightly, soaking up the praise.

"Ugh, but next week we have to go back to that hell hole," Paninya agrees. Rose shoots her a look and Paninya goes on, "God, I hate high school. Can't wait to graduate."

"Hate to break it to you, Pan, but we've got two years before we graduate," Winry reminds her. "Poor Al has three."

"I might graduate in the fall, though, when I'm a senior," Paninya tells us.

"Really?" Lan Fan questions. "Will the credits work out?"

"So far they have," Paninya replies. She sighs and says, "I'm just ready to start my life, you know? Do something that actually matters." I nod.

"I get that," I tell her. "I hate high school, too." She grins at me.

"I know; that's why I like you, Ed," she informs me. I cross my arms.

"I hope that's not the only reason," I snort. Paninya leans in close and asks,

"And if it was?" I push her away lightly.

"I'd have to pound on you just a little bit," I laugh. Everyone laughs, Ling coming back down the stairs.

"I brought pizza, you nerds," he announces. He sets it down on the coffee table, Lan Fan helping him move the snacks and candy aside to make room for the pizza boxes and soda bottles.

"Do you want us to pay you?" Al asks and Ling laughs. He walks over and ruffles my brother's hair, Al giggling softly.

"This is why we like you, kid," Ling says. He stops messing with Al's hair and goes on, "No, you don't have to pay me. It's my party so it's on me."

"You sure?" Al asks. "Dada gave me and Ed money."

"Seriously, bro, don't pay me," Ling assures him. "It's fine." Al nods and Winry shakes her head. Typical Al.

"You're too nice, Al," Winry says, standing. She looks at Ling and says, "I assume you have thought of ways to entertain us when the pizza's gone." Ling smirks.

"What kind of host to you take me for, Win?" He questions, his hand on his heart like Winry said something that hurt his feelings.

"The stupid kind," Paninya answers instantly. Ling glares at her.

"You can leave," Ling informs her lightly. Paninya laughs and Ling goes on, "Yeah, there's lots of things we can do. We have a hot tub we can use, lots of video games and movies, and if we get bored we can always take a drive."  
"You haven't had your license long enough to drive us all around," Rose points out. Ling laughs at her.

"So?" He questions. "I break that rule all the time and I've never been caught." Everyone glares at him and he holds his hands up. "What?!"

"We're so not doing that," Lan Fan informs him. "Especially since Al's here. We don't want to get him into to trouble." Ling stares at her and Lan Fan glares at him. "I mean it. No driving." Ling groans but nods.

"Fine, guess we're homebound," he complains, Lan Fan nodding. I chuckle, thinking about how weird Ling and Lan Fan's relationship is. See, their families have known each other forever. It was really no surprise to anyone when they started dating, except that Lan Fan always sort of acted like she didn't really like Ling or something. She was always bossing him around and telling him what to do. They've been dating since seventh grade and it wasn't until recently that I realized that the reason their relationship works is 'cause they balance each other out. Lan Fan is the rational, responsible side of it. She keeps him safe and does her best to prevent Ling from doing stupid things. Ling's the sporadic, fun side of the relationship. He reminds Lan Fan that it's okay to be goofy and do stupid things sometimes. So even though they can argue like an old married couple, they work. It's just funny 'cause Ling doesn't really listen to anyone but Lan Fan.

"C'mon, I'm starving," Winry complains. "Let's eat."

"I second that motion," Paninya says.

"Third," I add, everyone laughing.

"The motion passes!" Ling declares loudly, everyone tearing into the pizza all at once.

The pizza really didn't last long after everyone started eating. But in a room full of teenagers, you can't really expect that it would. When the pizza was gone, we all decided to play Super Smash Bros. tournament style. Since there are eight of us, we drew numbers. Numbers 1-4 played the first round and the loser of the first round had to give up their controller to number 5. That way, everyone gets a chance to play even if they suck. We did that for a while before deciding to play Mario Kart instead. While we played video games we ate junk food and talked and laughed and as the night wore on I began to forget about how anxious I was. Al was getting up to pee every two hours and I don't know. It's like my fears and anxiety took a back seat for once. It was nice. I mean, I knew it wouldn't last, but I enjoyed it thoroughly. While we played video games, we also built a blanket fort and climbed on some of the old toys and shit that Ling had in his basement. He had one of those indoor playground things with tunnels and slides and we played on that for a while before tiring out. We put a movie on around 10:30, everyone lazily talking to each other.

When the movie ends, it's almost one in the morning. Everyone's still up, though I can tell Al is slowly losing the battle of staying conscious. I'm about to get worried when Ling starts laughing wildly. Everyone stares at him, Al waking up just long enough to ask,

"What are you laughing about?"

"I was just thinking," Ling replies breathlessly. "We should do the totally cliché thing and play Truth or Dare before we crash. You guys game?" I've never played that game before, but I've seen it played on TV. I've never really liked the idea of the game, but if everyone else wants to play, I'll play, too.

"Sure," Paninya yawns.

"I just don't want it to go on for hours and hours," Rose says. "The game turns ugly if it goes on long." I nod. Yes, I agree with that. I just won't say so.

"Okay, everyone in a circle," Ling instructs. We all listen, Al one my right side and Winry on my left. "I'll go first," Ling tells us. He points at Winry and asks, "Truth or dare?" Winry rolls her eyes.

"Ugh, dare, I guess," Winry says, "But nothing gross or weird, okay?" Ling nods.

"Fine, okay, I dare you to, uh, get in the hot tub with all your clothes on," Ling says. Everyone cheers and Winry stands up.

"You're all the worst," she complains. We all walk to the hot tub and cheer as Winry gets in with all her clothes on. She sits down in the water and asks, "Good enough?"

"Perfect!" Ling laughs. "Your turn!" Winry gets out, puts a towel on and points to Paninya. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," Paninya answers.

"Since Ling wanted it to be cliché, do you have a crush on anyone right now?" Winry asks. Paninya laughs and shakes her head.

"Nope," she replies. Winry shoots her a look and Paninya says, "I mean it! I don't have a crush on anyone! Not a soul!"

"Fine, I believe you, but that was so boring! I wanted juicy details!" Winry complains.

"Sorry, dude," Paninya laughs. "Okay, now I get to pick. Um, Al! I pick you!" Al swallows nervously as Paninya says, "Truth or dare?"

"Uh, truth, I guess," Al answers nervously. Paninya must catch on 'cause she gently says,

"Hey, it's okay. I won't be mean to you, promise." Al nods and she hums, "Let's see. Oh, okay! Got one. Do you still sleep with a stuffed animal?" Al blushes but nods.

"Yeah," he answers.

"Woah, really?!" Paninya asks, Al nodding. "Dude, tell me about it!"

"Uh, well, he's a cat and his name is Chico," Al says, twisting the fabric of his shirt. "My mom gave him to me when I was little and I've always slept with him."

"Did you bring him?" Paninya asks. Al hides his face, but nods.

"Yes," he admits, his voice muffled behind his hands. I stare at everyone, relieved when no one laughs or teases him. Al lowers his hands and asks, "Is it my turn to pick on someone now?" Ling nods so Al points to Ling. "Truth or dare."

"Dare, and make it a good one, Al," Ling says. Al taps his chin in thought.

"This is harder than I imagined," Al says, Ling chuckling at him. "Can I dare you to do anything?"

"Pretty much," Ling replies. "I don't have any objections like Winry. The weirder the better, I say."

"Oh, okay," Al says. "Then eat a spoon full of Xiao-Mei's cat food." Everyone laughs and Ling gets all determined.

"Yes! Good choice! I'll be right back!" Ling hurries away to get some cat food and I nudge Al in the ribs.

"Good one," I praise. Al smiles happily.

"Cat food seems gross so I thought it'd be funny to watch him eat it," Al says. "Is that mean?"

"Yeah, but you're supposed to be kinda mean in this game," Rose answers. "That's why I'm not a fan of it. People always promise they won't be mean but eventually, they are."

"I don't wanna be mean," Al says softly.

"Don't worry," I assure him, "You could've dared him to do much worse." Ling hurries back in, a tablespoon full of cat food.

"Okay, ya'll, watch this!" Ling cries happily. He tilts his head back and dumps the spoon in his mouth. We all make noises of disgust as Ling crunches down on the cat food, a big smile on his face. He swallows and Al asks,

"How was it?"

"Salty, mostly," Ling replies. "It was gross, but like in the nasty salty beef jerky way. Okay, my turn. I pick Ed! Truth or dare, buddy?" I swallow nervously, trying to quickly decide which is worse.

"Oh, God, I don't know," I answer. Ling shoots me a look.

"If you don't decide, I'll have to pick for you," Ling informs me.

"Fine, you pick, then," I say.

"'Kay, truth, then," Ling says, my heart beating considerably faster than it was before. What is he gonna ask me? It could be something simple but it could also get mean – he could ask me about a deep dark secret that I don't wanna tell anyone. Ling opens his mouth and I blurt,

"Gotta pee! Be back. Just, uh, you know, keep playing without me." I hurry off, wheezing as I get to the bathroom. I shut the door, trying to get my breathing right. In through my nose, out through my mouth. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I get the rhythm right, sighing as I look at myself in the mirror. Winry's right – I am a baby. I can't even play the dumb game without getting scared. I shake my head and leave the bathroom, joining everyone again.

"Sorry," I say. "What are you gonna ask?"

"You okay, man?" Ling asks worriedly. I nod.

"Yeah," I answer. "I'm okay."

"Okay," Ling says. "Have you ever written something gross about somebody else on a stall in the bathroom at school?" I blink, a weight lifting off my chest. I shrug.

"Eh, once," I answer.

"Tell me," Ling says.

"You know the second-floor bathroom next to the library?" I ask. Ling nods and I glance over at Al. "Cover your ears, Al." I instruct. Al's brow furrows.

"How come?" Al asks.

"What I'm about to say is nasty and I don't want you to hear it," I tell him. Al nods and covers his ears. I smile and say, "I'm the one who wrote 'Ryan Voss is the biggest twat in school. He smells like infected semen and sucks dick for breakfast.' And then that little dong next to that, I drew that."

"You wrote that?" Ling demands. I nod and Ling howls with laughter. The girls just stare and Rose crinkles her nose.

"That's nasty," she tells me.

"But hilarious," Paninya laughs. "Good one, Ed!" I tap Al on the back and he uncovers his ears.

"You done?" Al asks. I nod.

"Yup," I reply. "I just admitted to writing one of the nastiest bathroom stall graffiti's in school."

"Gross," Al says.

"Not gross if it's true," I tell him sheepishly, Al giving me a look. I shrug, my little brother yawning loudly. "Okay, my turn but let's be done after this. I'm getting tired." Everyone nods and I glance over at Lan Fan. She blinks at me and I ask her, "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," she answers.

"How far have you and Ling gone?" I ask.

"Third," Lan Fan answers instantly.

"Eww," Rose complains, Paninya leaning in like she wants every detail.

"Gross," she breathes. "Tell us more."

"No," Lan Fan answers shortly. "That's personal. All you losers need to know is we've been to third more times than any of you have been anywhere else." I laugh, Ling looking rather pleased with himself.

"I know how to pleasure my lady," Ling says, everyone groaning at him.  
"God, dude, nasty," Winry groans. "Don't need the gory details of your third base life."

"What's third base?" Al asks innocently, everyone staring at him. He blushes and hunches his shoulders, obviously embarrassed. Everyone quickly looks at me and I chuckle nervously.

"Uh, I'll tell you tomorrow, Al, okay?" I say. Al nods, yawning again.

"Okay, kids, time to crash," Ling announces. "Claim your space and I expect battles to the death over where you sleep if someone else wants it."

"Whatever, dude," Paninya yawns as everyone begins drifting toward the place they wanna sleep. Al and I sorta claimed the futon, saying it didn't bother us to share since it's a two-person deal. Nobody fought us earlier so I doubt anyone will now. Everyone's pretty exhausted. Winry walks over with me and silently asks if I wanna call Dada so I can go home. I shake my head – I'm pretty tired so maybe I won't wake up screaming tonight. Sometimes when I'm this tired, I don't have nightmares. I just sleep. Maybe that'll happen tonight. And I've been super good about going to the bathroom so I probably won't wet the bed (futon. Whatever) either. I don't need to call Dada. Al tells her the same thing and she wishes us goodnight. We slip into our pajamas and Al pulls out Chico. I wait to take Lamby out of my bag until everyone's lying down and I'm out almost as soon as I hit the pillow.

I bolt upright, looking around frantically as I heave heavily. Where am I? Where am I?! I glance around but it's too dark to really get an idea of where I am. I feel someone stir beside me and I'm relieved when I see it's Al. Oh, we're in bed at home. I shift, trying to calm down when a chill runs down my spine. Hold on. No, we're not. We're not at home. We're at Ling's house. My breathing hitches as I hesitantly put my hand down on the futon. Oh, no. No. No. I didn't. Not at Ling's. Not at a sleepover. I put my hand down, my body freezing when my worst thoughts are confirmed. I peed on his futon. It's soggy and I start wheezing. Oh, God, what do I do? I glance over at Al and decide that I could blame him. I mean, I have no proof if it was really me. But I can't do that to my poor brother. He doesn't deserve that. I put my leg on and quietly get off the futon. There aren't sheets on it. Oh, my God, what am I supposed to do?! Tears prick in the back of my eyes as my throat tightens up. I really don't know what I'm supposed to do. It's not like I can just wake up Winry to help me strip it. There aren't sheets on it. I creep through the basement, careful not to step on anyone. I really don't know what to do. I hurry to the bathroom and shut the door, the light turning on. I stare at my reflection, my lip trembling pathetically.

"I…." I lick my lips, the words spilling out of me out of habit, "I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy. I'm a bad boy." Over and over again, tears falling down my face. Not only am I a bad boy, I'm a disgusting one, too. I'll never get invited to anything ever again after this. I try not to, but my crying and talking gets louder. I try to calm down, to stop crying when someone knocks at the door. I freeze, tears running down my face as I cautiously turn to the door.

"Ed?" It's Ling. It's Ling! I wanna bury myself in a hole and never come out, but I can't. I want this all to be a bad dream but it's not. It's happening. I peed myself at Ling's sleepover and he's about to find out. "Ed? Are you okay? Why are you crying, man?" I shake my head and open the door. I back up and sit on the edge of the bathtub, Ling closing the door and following me. I'm still crying and Ling just lets me. It's just like when we were in sixth grade. He just lets me cry until my lungs hurt. I can't even bring myself to tell him anything. I just cry.

"Ed," Ling says softly as my crying slowly quiets, "I heard you. I heard what you said." I don't do anything. My lip just trembles pathetically and I wipe my face, though it's kind of a loss cause considering I'm still crying. "I also kinda figured out that you peed yourself." My heart stops and I slide my eyes over to him.

"Y-You did?" I manage to ask. Ling nods.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I knew there had to be a reason you never wanted to sleep over. Actually, I knew there had to be lots of reasons. I kinda suspected that you wet the bed for a while, just never said anything in case it wasn't true." I just kind of stare at him, shocked that Ling could be so observant while also preserving my feelings. Maybe he's not as dumb as I thought.

"I'm sorry," I say softly. "I'm sorry I did that and I'm sorry you heard me earlier."

"Look, dude, I gotta tell you something," Ling says urgently. I look at his face, tears still running down my face. Ling shakes his head, his chin quivering. "I, uh, know."

"Know what?" I question slowly.

"About your stepmom," Ling tells me softly. I recoil, my heart beating wildly.

"What?" I breathe.

"I mean, I don't know exactly what she did to you or Al, but I always had a feeling she didn't really treat you guys right," Ling explains. "I saw the way you hid from her, the way you'd cry in school when we were little. I remember all the times you hoarded pencils or food or the times you'd pee yourself and be so scared of getting in trouble. I remember how gross you smelled and how hungry you were and…. I don't know. It wasn't until about middle school that I realized something wasn't right. But when I finally had the courage to tell someone that I was scared you were getting hurt at home or something, your dad divorced her." Ling's voice cracks and he starts crying. "I'm so sorry, Ed. I should have said something when we were kids. Maybe I could of... Maybe I could of helped you guys somehow. If I had just been brave…." I stare at my friend, unable to believe what I just heard. Ling… Ling knows? He knows that my stepmom was abusive? He just picked up on it all on his own? I shake my head again as he cries, realizing he feels guilty just like Winry for not doing anything, even though he had a gut feeling something was wrong.

"Ling, you can't do that," I tell him, my voice wavering. "What happened wasn't your fault."

"So it's true?" Ling asks me. I nod slightly. I take a deep breath as I prepare myself to share my deepest secret with Ling.

"My stepmom abused my brother and me for seven years," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I start crying again as I continue, "Al wet the bed when he was four and that was the trigger. After that, she did her damn best to torture us. I've never felt like I could tell you. I didn't know what you would say or do and I'm sorry. I should have just told you the truth but I was too scared. I'm so sorry, Ling." I start sobbing and Ling just pats my back.

"It's okay, buddy," Ling comfort softly, his voice strained. "It's okay. I won't tell anyone, I promise. It's okay."

"I'm s-s-sorry a-about your f-futon," I hiccup. I look pathetically at him and say, "I c-can g-g-go home if y-you w-want me t-t-to."

"No, I want you to stay," Ling tells me. "Ed, you're the best friend I've ever had. I might have failed you when we were kids, but I'm not gonna anymore. Don't worry about the stupid futon. Do you have something to change into?" I nod, my lip still trembling.

"Yeah," I answer.

"Good," Ling says. "I have some stuff you could wear if you didn't." I nod, my blood freezing as a scream echoes through the basement. I stand as Ling asks, "What was that?"

"It's Al," I inform him. "He's probably having a bad dream. This isn't gonna be pretty."

"Is there anything I can do?" Ling asks, standing next to me. I shake my head.

"Just… just keep everyone away from us," I instruct. "I know you and Winry won't do anything but…." I trail off as Al screams again and I know I have to get to him. My baby brother's scared. I hurry out of the bathroom, Ling trailing behind me. I make it back to the futon, everyone's eyes on me.

"Did he wet the bed?" Paninya asks as Rose worriedly says,

"Is he okay?" Winry shoves passed them and hovers over me as I sit on the edge of the futon.

"It's just a dream, Rose," I tell her. Ling watches as I say, "Al has nightmares sometimes. And yeah, he probably did piss himself, but I did too so if you have anything to say about it, go head." Everyone just kind of stares at me and I stand. "I mean it! If you got anything to say, just say it! I can take it!" Everyone exchanges glances as Al screams again. I look down at him as Winry walks over to me.

"No one's saying anything, Ed," Winry tells me gently. "We're just worried about Al." I nod and sit back down.

"B-Brother!" Al screams, writhing on the futon pathetically.

"Al," I coo softly, "Al, it's okay. You're dreaming. Wake up, buddy." Al's eyes snap open and he sits up right. He looks over at me, his whole body shaking, and he asks,

"Brother?" I nod and Al flings himself on to me. He starts wailing loudly, crawling up into my lap and staying there.

"Shh, it's okay, you're okay," I assure him softy. "You're okay. You're okay."

"Uh, hey, guys?" Ling says awkwardly. "Let's go up to my room for a bit. Give them some space, you know?" Everyone nods, Winry staying behind. She walks over to the futon and sits down, Al sobbing on my lap.

"Well, that could have gone worse," Winry says, obviously trying to cheer me up.

"Could have gone better, too," I grumble, rubbing Al's back.

"I know," she sighs. "If it's any consolation, I think everyone's more worried than they are grossed out or anything like that."

"I'll take worried, I guess," I say. "I hate when people pity me so as long as they aren't doing that, I'm good."

"Want me to call Uncle Vic?" Winry asks. I shake my head.

"Ling wants me to stay," I inform her. Her brow furrows and I sigh. "Before Al started screaming, I had a bad dream and woke up to the wet futon. I went into the bathroom and started crying. I also said those four horrible words and he heard me. I let him talk to me and he told me he kinda had a feeling that Al and I were abused, and he kinda figured we wet the bed and that's why we never came to his sleepovers. He told me he wanted me to stay, even though I saturated his futon, so I guess I will." Winry nods and asks,

"What about Al?" Al clings to me and I shake my head.

"He probably doesn't want to leave my side right now," I tell her. "I mean, he just had a nightmare and peed himself in front of our friends. Kinda embarrassing." Winry laughs lightly.

"Okay, so what are you gonna tell everyone else?" Winry asks. "Are you gonna tell them now that Ling knows?" I shake my head.

"I… I can't. It's too hard and I already had to go through it once tonight. Can't do it again." Al shifts in my lap, his head resting on my chest.

"Ling knows?" Al asks softly. I nod.

"Yeah," I answer. "Sorry, buddy."

"It's okay," Al replies. "They're gonna find out eventually."

"I know," I say. "Just sucks that he found out like this." I kiss his sweaty hair and ask, "You okay?" I feel him nod.

"I am now," Al answers. "That is, I'm okay until Ling comes back down. As soon as I see him, I'll be a mess again." I nod and Winry stands up. I hear someone coming down the stairs, Al whimpering.

"You guys okay?" Ling asks, finally visible.

"We're fine," I answer, Al crying again.

"S-Sorry, L-Ling," Al cries pathetically. "Sorry. I r-ruined your p-party." Ling shakes his head and walks over to us.

"Don't say that," Ling tells him. "It's okay. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Al, let's change, okay?" I suggest. "You'll feel better." Al nods and we both stand up.

"Can everybody come back down?" Ling asks. I nod.

"Yeah, but I have a request," I tell him.

"Anything," Ling replies.

"I don't want to answer any questions about what happened right now," I say. "Just tell everyone they have to wait 'til tomorrow for answers. Okay?" Ling nods.

"Okay, will do," Ling assures me. He leaves and I dig out clean clothes for me and Al. We take turns in the bathroom like we do at home, never speaking. There's not much to say. We have a lot to answer for in the morning. When we're done we walk back to where everyone is. Everybody's back in their sleeping spots. Al and I find a forgotten air mattress and curl up on it, hoping everyone will forget about everything that happened in the last hour.

Fat chance of that happening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take some time at the end of the chapter to thank everyone who's read, bookmarked, or left a comment on this story in the last year. This story was literally just an experiment in first person I was doing and I never anticipated this sort of reaction to it. I never even really planned on continuing past, like, five chapters but your amazing support and feedback kept me going. I mean this when I say Fullmetal Alchemist made me a better person and a big part of that are the characters of Ed and Al. They are both amazing, hard working, forgiving people and I strive to be that way everyday. It was my hope that Ed would shine through in the narrative and it's obvious that he has. You guys are amazing and it's been an awesome year of writing. I don't know how many more chapters it'll take, but this story can't end until Ed's told his story and he's got a bit more to tell. Thanks for sticking by me for a year and I can only hope you guys continue to do so. You're all amazing and I'll see you all next time.


	39. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burger King or McDonalds?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is talk of self harm near the end of the chapter. Just as a warning. Thanks for reading, as always, and enjoy!

I never did manage to fall asleep again. I've been up since the nightmare incident, dreading what the morning would bring. I think Al's napped since then, but I don't think he ever really got to sleep for real. We both have the same horrible thing on our minds. What in the world are our friends going to ask when they get up? Part of me is still in complete and total shock that Ling knows about the abuse. The idea that the rest of my friends might find out in a whirlwind Q and A session with me and Al makes me wanna disappear forever. And even if I don't tell them today, I will eventually. And even though I may not tell them today, I still have to answer any questions they may have about the nightmares, the anxiety, and the friggin' bedwetting. I cringe, rolling over on my side. I still can't believe that happened. I pissed myself at a sleepover and yelled that I did to all my friends. My throat tightens up and I struggle to fight tears. God, I'm so disgusting. I take a shaky breath, trying to not let the tears run down my face. Al moans softly beside me, his voice shaking.

"Al?" I whisper. "You awake?" I feel Al nod.

"Yeah," he whispers back. I feel his arms wrap around my waist, his constant tremor jostling my brain a little bit.

"You scared?" I ask. Al nods again.

"Yeah," he repeats. "Scared of what they'll say. Scared of what they'll ask. You?"

"I'm damn terrified," I admit softly. "Maybe we'll get lucky and no one will even mention what happened. Kinda doubt that'll be the case, though."

"We never even shoulda showed up," Al says bitterly, his voice wavering. "You were right. It was doomed from the start." I don't do anything. Yeah, it kinda was. Our mental health issues never take a break. Never. I knew they wouldn't last night. I knew that if it wasn't the bedwetting, it'd be the nightmares. And if it wasn't the nightmares, it would be the night terrors. And if it wasn't those things, it would be the anxiety or something else. We don't get lucky. We don't get breaks. Our lives suck twenty-four seven and the sooner we accept that, the better.

"I'm sorry, Al," I apologize. "I should have said no the minute he called to invite us. This is my fault, I'm sorry."  
"Don't be," Al tells me. "I wanted to go just as much as you did." He scoffs lightly and continues, "I fooled myself into thinking that all our issues would take a back seat, just for a night, so we'd be happy. I should have known that was stupid." I hear someone coming down the stairs so I look up. It's Winry. She waltzes over to the air mattress and sits down, sighing slightly.

"Morning," I greet half-heatedly.

"Morning," she repeats.

"Everyone else up?" I ask. Winry nods. I groan. "Great. So they're just waiting for us to show our pathetic faces, then?" Winry sighs again.

"Ed, it's not like that," Winry tells me. I huff.

"Oh, of course it's not," I snap. "Everyone just magically forgot about what happened last night and they're not gonna pester me or Al about any of it! My mistake!"

"Will you just shut up?" Winry questions heatedly. I glare at her and she glares right back. "Everyone's just worried, okay? What happened last night with Al really freaked them out."

"And they're asking questions, aren't they?" I ask. Winry doesn't do anything so I press, "Aren't they?!"

"Yeah," Winry finally answers softly. "They are. But not because they're gonna get a sick laugh or something out of what you say. They're asking 'cause they care about you and Al. All they want is for you guys to assure them that you're okay."

"But we're not," Al says quietly.

"Al," Winry sighs, Al shaking his head.

"Don't try to deny it, Win," Al tells her. "You know me and Ed aren't okay. We haven't been okay since we were little kids. Telling them anything else is lying to them and you know it."

"Look, guys, I wanna be supportive but it's hard when all you do is shoot me down," Winry says. "Okay, so you're not fine. I get that. But you have to tell them you are, even if it's lying. 'Cause if you don't tell them that, you have to tell them the truth and I know you're so not ready to do that." Al shakes his head and looks away.

"We know all that," I tell her bluntly. "We aren't stupid. We just don't like lying. Before, you know, they just didn't know anything so we didn't have to say anything about it. Now they know some things and the whole ball game's changed. We know we need to lie, we just don't like it." Winry nods.  
"I know you don't like lying," Winry replies. "I know how awful it makes you feel. I do. I've seen it. Even the idea of lying makes you guys queasy. But to protect your secret, it's a necessary evil. Always has been. Always will be until you guys are ready to talk about it." I grimace, looking away from her. The thing is, I am ready to talk about it so long as it's in a group of people I couldn't care less about. As long as it's not my friends listening, I can talk all day long about it. Well, not really, but I talk about it at least. I just don't have the courage to tell people that I care about what happened to me.

"Winry," I begin, my voice shaking, "There's a lot I've never told you about. And it's not 'cause I don't trust you or love you or some shit like that. It's 'cause I know what knowing would do to you. It would destroy you, make you feel guilty when nothing is your fault. You were just a little kid. You couldn't do anything."

"Neither could you," Winry points out. I grit my teeth and shake my head.

"No, I could have protected Al better," I argue angrily. "I could have told Dada the truth long before it got bad. I could have stood up for Al the day he told his first grade teacher. But I didn't. I didn't do any of those things. I allowed it to happen because I'm weak."

"That's not true," Winry insists, Al rolling over and sitting up.

"If that's true for you, Brother, then it's true for me, too." I sit right up and look at him.

"Don't you say that," I tell him. "You're the one that got us rescued."

"Yeah," Al scoffs bitterly. "Only after seven years of torture and an emotional breakdown when I was eleven. It took me so long after what happened to finally tell the truth and I never protected you the way that I should have."

"But you tried!" I protest loudly, Al sniffling beside me. "You cleaned my wounds and held my hand when I was scared. You took care of me when I was sick and you did tell the truth when you were little. No one believed you, though, and that's on them. They know that now." Al nods, his chin quivering as he fights tears.

"You guys," Winry sighs sadly. "None of it is your fault. If I was just a little kid and couldn't or didn't do anything, whatever the narrative is, then that's true for you, too. You were both just scared little kids. It had nothing to do with what you did and didn't do. It had everything to do with your dad's bad judgement and her bad heart."

"Dada's judgement?" Al asks. "What do you mean?"

"Me and Granny love Uncle Vic so much, we do," Winry disclaimers quickly, "But when they were dating, Granny always said Uncle Victor was moving too fast with no consideration for you two. She knew he wasn't trying to do anything mean, but he was too swept away in the illusion she created that he didn't listen to Granny. He didn't trust his gut when she called you liars and thieves, even though he knew you guys a whole lot better than he knew her. His judgement was impaired back then by an idealistic dream he had for your family and it's almost as much to blame for what happened as the actual abuser is." I nod. Yeah, I knew all that. I've known it for years. That's why sometimes I blame Dad for everything that happened and even hate him for it. But at the same time, I also know that he really didn't mean for it to happen. He really was just caught up in this idea he had, an idea that he could "fix" what happened to us when Mom died by finding a new wife that would stabilize our lives. And in his eyes since she was so good at yanking him around on a chain and deceiving him, he thought he had.

"Dada's not a bad person," Al whimpers, his still quivering. "He's not. He loves us. It's not his fault."

"Ally, I said almost," Winry points out. He wipes his face and Winry sighs. She pats his back and softly says, "I'm sorry, Al. I shouldn't have continued to talk about all this. I knew that it would upset you and I kept going. I just couldn't bear to listen to you and Ed blame yourselves for what happened. None of it, and I mean none of it, was your fault." Al nods and wipes his face.

"We should go upstairs," I say with a shaking voice. "We've kept them waiting long enough."

"Are you ready?" Winry asks, still comforting Al. I shake my head.

"Nope," I reply. "But I'll never be. Better just go get the roast session over with then stay down here and talk about who's fault the abuse was."

"It won't be a roast session," Winry tells me.

"Says you," I grumble, getting up. I quickly change out of my pajamas, Al doing the same, and look up the stairs. I sigh and say, "They might turn it into a roast session depending on what they ask and how we answer it. I don't want it to, but it might." Al takes my hand, his shaking thumb rubbing the back of my hand.

"It'll be okay, I think," Al says. "Even if it does turn into something mean, it won't last forever." I nod. Yeah and I do know one other person besides Winry who won't get involved. It's the guy that saw me sob on the edge of a bathtub covered in my own piss. Ling won't join in if the morning turns sour. Hell, he might even tell everyone to shut up. I start the journey up the stairs, my heart beating so fast I'm kinda scared it'll explode long before I get to the top.

My foot lands on the top step and I hesitate. I can hear voices coming from the kitchen. Ling's family is redoing the kitchen. He said that the last thing they did was putting in a nook-thing where people sit in those tall chairs I hate and eat. I always wanted one when I was a kid, but Dada's never been really interested in home improvement. He's never mentioned redoing anything, not even ripping up the carpet upstairs where there's blood stains. I shudder and listen. The voices sound happy. Everyone's laughing. I take a deep breath and finish the journey upstairs. Winry and Al are behind me and I can hear Al shaking. It's bad when I can hear him shaking. We walk toward the kitchen, everyone's happy voices pounding in my ears as they get louder. We get into the kitchen, Ling looking over at us and grinning.

"Morning," he says cheekily. He gestures to the nook with his head and asks, "Waffles? We've got plenty."

"Sure," Winry says cheerfully, sitting next to Lan Fan. I stand still for a moment before grabbing Al's hand and guiding him over. We sit down and Winry stares at me. Oh. Waffles. Right. I shake my head.

"Uh, no thanks," I say. "I'm, uh, not hungry."

"It's 'cause they're frozen, right?" Ling asks playfully, a couple waffles popping out of the toaster. "I don't have a waffle iron, you know."

"Oh, no, it's not that," I assure him, my voice shaking. "It's just, uh, well, you know. I don't have a waffle iron either, so it's not that. I, um, just can't…. I'm anxious and I can't eat when I'm anxious." There. I said it. I glance over at Al who's just staring at the marble top of the counter. He's super anxious. He's not even talking.

"That's cool, dude," Ling says, serving waffles to Paninya, "You don't have to eat." I nod, swallowing nervously. I don't know if it's my anxiety or not, but it feels like everyone's staring at me. I quickly glance around to find out that nope – no one's staring so it is my stupid anxiety that's making me feel that way. Awesome.

"So," Ling goes on, everyone looking at him. "About last night." I grimace; here it comes. "I think that was my last New Year's sleepover I'm gonna throw." My head shoots up, my eyes locked on Ling.

"What?" I ask, baffled. Ling grins at me.

"Let me finish," Ling tells me. "I won't be hosting sleepovers anymore on New Year's. Instead, we'll go see a movie and get pizza and hang out at my house 'til the ball drops. And then you can leave, but if you stay and sleep, I won't bark at you."

"That's a good idea," Rose says. "We, like, never get to watch the ball drop."

"I like it, but what do we do if all the movies suck?" Paninya asks.

"It's obvious," Lan Fan says, "We sneak into an R-rated movie."

"Wait, shut up for a second," I cut in. I turn to Ling and say, "You've always had a sleepover on New Year's. You can't just stop having them 'cause of Al and me. We ruin enough stuff already. We aren't worth it." The kitchen goes silent. Okay, now everyone's looking at me.

"Dude, you are," Ling says. I shake my head and look at my lap. My throat tightens up and I do my best to not start crying. But I'm not worth it. I'm not. "Anyway," Ling goes on, "I like hanging out with you guys so if sleepovers make you anxious and you have problems sleeping, then we just won't hang out like that anymore. End of story." I glance over at Al, my brother still just staring at the counter. What's he thinking? How's he feeling? I have no idea. It's weird that I don't know. I don't like when I can't read him.

"That's really awesome," Winry says, nudging me in the ribs. "Right, Ed?" I shrug.

"Yeah, awesome," I mumble. Al looks up finally and looks at Ling.

"I like that idea," Al says softly. "It'll be fun. Thanks, Ling. That was really nice of you." I grin weakly. Leave it to Al to swoop in and say everything I wanted to, but was too scared to say. Al's awesome like that.

"Thanks, Al," I say. He grins brightly and Winry shakes her head.

"You hungry, Ally?" Winry asks, Al nodding.

"Yup! Are they plain or do they have something in them?" Al asks.

"Chocolate chip, baby!" Ling cries happily.

"Hey, uh, Ling?" I ask as Ling puts more waffles in the toaster.

"What's up, man?" Ling asks in reply.

"Thanks," I say softly. "This… This means a lot."

"Don't mention it," Ling says. I smile and I'm really happy that the morning didn't become a roast-fest like I had feared.

Dada comes to pick us up from Ling's around ten. While we waited we just played video games, the night before never once coming up again. No one asked how long we've been bedwetters or if Al has horrifying nightmares every night or anything like that. It was like none of that shit even happened last night. I guess that means I have the best friends in the universe or something. I mean, I was so scared that someone would ask questions or laugh or tease me but it never happened. Anyway, Al and I say goodbye to everyone and we get into Dada's car. He pulls away and asks,

"Are you sure you grabbed everything from Ling's house?" I nod.

"Yeah," I answer.

"You didn't leave your retainer on his bathroom sink or anything like that?" Dada presses and I shake my head.

"I've got it, Dada," I tell him. "It's in my mouth. Relax."

"Sorry," Dad says. "I guess I'm just anxious to hear how the sleep over went." I smile.

"Well, it went just about how you'd expect it would," I tell him. Dada sighs.

"I'm sorry, boys," Dada apologizes. "Maybe I should have come to get you at midnight."  
"It's okay, Dad," Al says. "I mean, yeah, bad stuff happened but no one seemed to care and we did have fun."

"It was super weird but awesome," I go on. "No one said anything this morning about what happened. No questions, no teasing, no nothing."

"See?" Dada says happily. "Didn't I tell you that if they were all truly your friends that they wouldn't laugh at you?" I glare at him, but I'm smiling.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumble, Al leaning forward in his seat.

"Dada? I'm hungry. Can we pick up lunch?"

"Sure, Al," Dada replies. "Anything in particular you want?"

"Eh, no," Al answers.

"Hey, Dad?" I ask, licking my lips.

"What, honey?"

"Ling knows." Everyone's quiet for a bit. Dad stops at a red light and glances back at me.

"What?" He questions.

"Ling knows about the abuse, Dada," I clarify softly.

"Oh, God," Dada breathes. "Really?" Al and I nod and Dad shakes his head. "How did he hear about it? I've never told anyone outside of family and Pinako it happened."

"He kinda just figured it out on his own," I explain, Al's hand moving toward his skin. I gently push it away and go on, "He told me he always had a feeling something was wrong, but never had the courage to say anything to anyone about it. When he finally figured it out and was gonna tell, she got arrested and you were working on the divorce. Hey, is that official yet?"

"Ling's smarter than you give him credit for, Ed," Dad says, the car moving forward again. "And yes – it's official. It took a while to get both sides to agree as you know, but once she finally broke down and agreed to the terms last year. I thought I told you about it months ago, but maybe I didn't." I shrug.

"You probably did," I tell him. "Things have been insane lately so I probably just forgot. That's my bad."

"It's all right," Dad says. "But… Ling knows."

"Ling knows," I echo.

"Are you okay with that?" Dad asks worriedly. I shrug again.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I mean, I know he won't spread it around but…. I don't know. I don't like that someone else knows and I didn't even tell them." Dad nods and I can see his eyes widen in the rearview mirror. I'm about to ask what's wrong when Dada shouts;

"Al! Honey, stop it! You're bleeding!" Al gasps beside me and I look over at him. Bright red blood is smeared on his hand, little claw marks all over his hand from scratching too much.

"Al!" I cry, Al shaking his head.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Al cries miserably. "I guess I was stressed! Sorry! Please don't be mad! I didn't mean to!"

"Al, sweetie, it's okay," Dada assures him, Al's breathing all fast and erratic. "Calm down."

"Where's the first aid kit?" I ask.

"Glove box," Dad answers. "I'll get it."

"Careful," I warn, Dada smiling at me.

"I'll pull into a parking lot," he tells me. "You just worry about Al." I nod and reach a hand over. I pet his hair, Al's breathing getting normal again.

"Sorry," he says quietly.

"It's okay, Brother," I tell him. "You didn't mean to. Besides, we weren't exactly talking about something fun."

"I know," he says softly. "I don't know how I feel about Ling knowing either, Brother."

"Yeah, I figured we were on the same boat there," I laugh weakly. "At least we know he won't tell anyone." Al nods.

"Yeah," he replies. The car stops and Dad reaches over to the passenger side. He opens the glove box, pulls out the car first aid kit and opens it. He hands me an alcohol swab and says,

"Help Al clean his hand up, okay?" I nod.

"Okay." I turn to Al and say, "This might sting a little." Al nods.

"I know," he says. "I'm ready, Ed." I open the swab and dab it on his skin. Al winces, hissing in pain as the alcohol stings the little open wounds.

"Sorry," I say softly. "I know it hurts." He grins briefly.

"It's okay," Al tells me. "I did it to myself, you know."

"Knock it off," I say quickly. "Don't talk like that." Al looks down, his eyes locked on the seat.

"But it's true," Al says miserably.

"Al, honey, we're not gonna think that way," Dad tells him.

"Why not?" Al asks, sniffling. "I did do it. I scratched 'til I bled. That's on me."

"You were stressed," I say as I put band-aids on the biggest of the little claw marks.

"No excuse," Al argues. "I shouldn't hurt myself, period. You guys know that's true." I look down at my lap, Dad staying silent. Okay, yeah, that's true. Al shouldn't hurt himself. No one should. I shouldn't have when I was cutting. It puts everyone through Hell. I know that, Al knows that, Dada knows that. I watch from the backseat as Dad lowers his hands from the steering wheel and shakes his head.

"Then what do you want me to do, Al?" Dada asks. "Do you want me to punish you? Yell at you until I don't have a voice? Lecture you about it? You're putting me in a corner here, Alphonse." I glance up at Al and see his face scrunch up.

"I don't know what I want, okay?!" Al yells angrily. "I don't know! Do whatever the hell you want, Dad! I don't give a fuck!"

"Alphonse!" Dad cries angrily. "What has gotten into you?"

"Shut up," Al says loudly. "Shut up!" I shake my head and stop putting band-aids on Al's hand for him. Instead I hold his hand with one of mine and start petting his hair with the other.

"It's okay," I say gently, Al quivering under my hand as I pet his hair. "It's okay. It's okay to not know what you want. I know I didn't." Al's lip trembles and I can tell he's trying not to break down.

"I k-kinda know wh-what I w-want," Al manages to say.

"What's that, sweetie?" Dad asks.

"I…." Al licks his lips, his chin quivering. "I just want you to stay. D-Don't g-g-give up on me."

"I won't, honey," Dada assures him gently. "I won't. I never gave up on Ed and I surely won't give up on you, either."

"It'll be okay, Ally," I say softly. "It'll be okay. We'll get through it, it'll be okay." Al nods, sniffling miserably as he fights tears.

"So, you boys still hungry?" Dada asks, Al wiping his face. He nods and I grin weakly.

"I could eat," I say. "Where to, Dad?"

"Oh, I don't know," Dad answers, pulling out of the parking lot. "Fancy or fast food?"

"Whadda say, Al?" I ask cheerfully, trying to cheer Al up. "Want to eat food that'll cut our life spans by, like, five years or get something a little better?" Al grins.

"Well, if I'm gonna be honest, I need something that'll take some time off my life," Al replies. I chuckle at him.

"Sounds good to me," I say, Dad shaking his head from the front seat.

"All right," Dad laughs, Al staring at his hand that's covered in band-aids. I sigh and gently punch his arm.

"Cheer up," I chirp. Al glances over at me and shrugs.

"I'm sorry," Al whimpers softly. He picks at the band-aids, his hands shaking. "I'm sorry, Ed." I run a hand through my hair and sigh.

"I know," I tell him. "I always felt like shit after I cut. It felt so good when I was doing it, but the after part sucked so bad it almost made me quit doing it."

"Almost?" Al asks.

"Yeah," I reply quietly. "You remember, don't you? I'd do it, admit it to Dada in tears, and feel so guilty that I'd do it again the next day so I could get rid of that guilt. Then I'd just feel guilty about that and the cycle would start all over again."

"That… sucks." I nod.

"Yeah, it does," I agree with a weak chuckle.

"Ed, how did you stop? Like, how did you really stop?" Al asks. I shrug.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I guess…. I stopped when I finally decided that I actually wanted to. Part of me, even though it made me feel like shit, really felt like I needed to cut. I guess I thought I needed to punish myself since I felt like I was such a shitty, bad person. Part of me also thought it really helped me to feel better or release some feelings or whatever shit I was feeding myself. Sure, I told Dada I wanted to stop and that's when he started giving me presents when I went a little while without cutting but I didn't really stop until…." I pause, Al staring expectantly at me, waiting for me to finish the story. I lick my lips, take a deep breath and go on:

"It had been, like, a month since I had cut. I honestly can't remember what set me off, but something did. I remember locking myself in the bathroom, holding a pair of scissors I had taken from Dada's office. I was sitting on the toilet seat, the scissor blades pressing on my skin and I did it. I cut. It was bad, too. I just kept going, over and over, until I saw just how much I was bleeding. I stared at my arm, my heart thumping wildly, and for the first time I saw cutting for what it was – terrible. It hurt me for no good reason, it hurt Dada, and most importantly, it hurt you." Al glances up at me and I smiled weakly at him. "After that, I think I only cut, like, once and it wasn't bad. I just kinda stopped. Anytime I felt like I wanted or needed to cut, I'd just picture your face – the way your eyes got sad whenever you'd see fresh cuts on my arms and I just wouldn't do it. I'd actually do the alternatives Dr. Hughes gave to me and I wouldn't hurt myself. I guess that's when I stopped." Al stares at his hand, his chin quivering.

"I don't know if I can do that," Al says. "At least, not right now."

"That's okay," I tell him. "It took me a long time to get to that point. Dada and I will stand by you, no matter how long it takes for you to get there."

"You will?" Al asks.

"You stuck by me, didn't you?" I ask. Al nods and I smile at him. "Then I'll stick by you, don't worry. You'll get through this, I promise. In a few months, you probably won't even wanna cut anymore."

"Don't you wanna cut sometimes still?" Al asks. I look away.

"When I get low, yeah," I reply truthfully. "But if I'm gonna be honest, I don't think I ever really wanna do it anymore. It's just when I feel that shitty, my brain just jumps there. Get it?"

"Is it like when I'm upset or scared and I wanna… God, this is so embarrassing, but when I'm upset and I wanna suck my thumb or my fingers? I never really wanna do that but part of me thinks it'll help. Is that what it's like?"

"Exactly," I confirm with a smile. I ruffle Al's hair and say, "You're gonna be okay, kiddo. I promise." Al yawns and rests his head on my arm.

"Sleepy?" Dada asks from the front seat, pulling into a drive-thru.

"Sleepovers really wear you out," I reply. "Or so I hear. Never really been to one before." Al laughs softly and I grin.

"Let's eat so I can take a nap," Al says with a yawn. "I really am exhausted."

"Okay, boys, sounds like a plan," Dada laughs, Al resting his head further into my arm. I pet his hair and ask,

"You glad we went to that sleepover?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yeah, I am," Al tells me. "It was fun and our friends are really our friends so, yeah. I'm glad we went. You?" I shrug.

"I think so," I answer. "I mean I would have preferred if, you know, I hadn't have peed all over Ling's futon or you hadn't have started screaming but yeah, it was fun."

"I'm glad you boys had fun," Dad says and I grin.

"Well, we'd be pretty boring people if we hadn't had fun I'd say," I say sheepishly, Al snuggling closer to me. Dada smiles and keeps driving toward some crappy fast food place, Al falling asleep long before we order.


	40. Winry's Bench Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just realized I never put this chapter on here. Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains talk of child abuse as Ed tells more of his story. Just a head's up for anyone that is uncomfortable with that. Enjoy!

Winter break went by pretty fast after Ling's sleepover. We didn't do anything that weekend except play video games, sleep, and hang out with Winry. Monday and Tuesday were the same deal since school didn't start until Wednesday. Now it's Wednesday and I'm at school. It's been pretty boring so far. I mean, it's just the same old beginning of the semester crap we get every year. Hardly any of my classes changed so I pretty much have all the same teachers. The main difference is that astronomy class, but that's honestly not even a class. We meet during the week, sure, but since we don't go out to the observatory every night we won't be doing much. It'll be a study hall mostly which'll be nice. Second semester is typically harder than first so it'll be nice to have an extra hour every day to do homework.

The final bell rings after what feels like a life time and I collect my stuff. I glance out the window, sighing when I see it's snowing. Great. I shake my head and go to my locker. Al's gonna meet me there. We have group today after school and, God, I really don't want to go. I mean, I never wanted to go before but now that I'm telling my story it's exhausting. Week after week I tell a whole group of kids my life story and I'm just getting sick of it. It has helped, though, that Al's begun to talk more. I've barely told any of it lately so that's been nice. But listening to it sucks just as much as telling it. I walk through the hallway, kids lightly pushing past me and gawking at the snow. I make it to my locker and open it, putting everything I don't need away and packing up everything I do need. I don't have much homework, so really all I need to grab is my coat.

"Ed," Al says from behind me. I shut my locker and turn to face him.

"Hey," I greet, Al grinning weakly at me. "How'd your first day go?" Al shrugs.

"It was fine," he answers.

"No one gave you any trouble?" I ask, thinking about the unidentified group of kids trying to bribe Al into doing their homework and bullying him when he says no. He shakes his head and I sigh softly.

"Nope," Al replies. He starts walking and I follow behind him. He quickly asks me with his eyes what I'm gonna talk about today. I shrug. I honestly don't know. Truthfully, the trunk is the next big, horrible even that happened, but that's Al's thing. I don't know if he's up for talking about it. And even if he is, he can condense it into, like, ten minutes so I'd probably have to talk a little since everyone pretty much expects that we tell our story for half an hour every Wednesday. I guess…. I guess Al getting sick when he was seven is the next thing. After the trunk, Al got really sick. It was after we meet Teacher…. I gasp, my eyes widening. Teacher! We can quickly summarize the trunk and today we can just talk about meeting Teacher! Al getting sick can wait for next week.

"I think I'll talk about Teacher," I tell him. Al nods.

"That's good," he says. "I'll talk a little about… about the trunk and you can talk about how we met Teacher."

"Yup," I say, putting my stuff down on a table in the cafeteria. We don't wanna sit outside and wait for Dada to come get us when it's snowing. I sit down, Al sitting down next to me.

"Ed!" I quickly turn my head and see Winry hurrying over. She quickly sits down and says, "You won't believe this."

"What?" I ask nervously, my palms beginning to sweat.

"There's this girl in my shop class from Champaign-Urbana," she begins, my pulse slowing down a bit. Oh. That's not bad. I was expecting to hear that someone at Ling's sleepover was spreading rumors or some shit. "She's gonna be my bench partner this semester and she seems super shy so I invited her over to my house after school." I smirk.

"Aw, did she turn you down?" I ask sheepishly. Al giggles and Winry glares at me. I hold my hands up and say, "Sorry. Sorry. Go on." Winry flips her hair in irritation and says;

"Anyway, she did turn me down but not 'cause she didn't wanna come over. She can't come because she's got group therapy today at 3:30."

"And you thought I'd care about some new girl's group therapy because?" I question, a brow raised.

"Because," Winry says, clearly annoyed, "She's going to your group therapy session." My eyes widen, Al stiffening beside me.

"Wait, what?" I breathe in disbelief. Winry nods.

"I'm sorry, Ed," she says sadly. "I, uh, figured you'd want to know in case you were planning on sharing anything today. I mean, I know it's supposed to be confidential but Dr. Hughes can't stop her from spreading stuff around if that's what she's gonna do."

"Oh, shit," I sigh. "Great."

"Brother, she won't know we go to her school," Al points out.

"Yeah, but she can still talk about us and she'll connect the dots sooner or later," I remind him. Al's chin quivers and he slumps over.

"Oh," he says quietly.

"It'll be okay," I say, though I'm not really sure that's true. Group, though it's miserable and anxiety inducing, has actually been a fairly good outlet for me. I mean, I hate telling my story, but I feel like since I began to tell it, I've gotten better. It's easier to talk about with Dada and… I don't know. I don't want this girl to take away my outlet. It's my safe place to tell stories. I don't wanna lose that.

"What's her name, Winry?" Al asks softly.

"Hannah," Winry answers. "Hannah Bennett."

"Well, Bennett's not gonna stop me from telling my story," I say bitterly.

"Really?" Al asks.

"Ed," Winry says, leaning in, "I know this is important to you, but think about what could happen. She could tell anyone about anything. It goes far beyond the abuse. No one knows your step-mom's in prison. She could change all that. She could tell the wrong person about that or the sleeping issues or the cutting or basically anything else that people could use against you or Al. I don't want to see that happen."

"You don't get it," I snap quietly, Winry recoiling slightly. "That's our safe place to tell our story. If I…. If I can tell it to those kids, maybe someday I can tell it to you, too. I need this, Win. I need it." Winry sighs sadly.

"You've said that about a lot of things, Ed," Winry reminds me. I glare at her.

"This is different," I say coolly. "This is actually helping me and Al to get better. This is a good thing. I won't let her take that away from me."

"But, Ed," Al protests weakly, "What if she spreads things around? I don't think I could handle if everyone knew all my secrets. They know enough of them already."

"That's not gonna happen," I insist. "I'm gonna keep telling our story, Bennett or no Bennett." Winry shakes her head.

"Do what you feel like you have to, but be careful," she warns. "I mean, this girl seems so nice and she seems pretty shy, but it's her first day at our school. When she warms up, she could become a very nasty person pretty quick." I nod.

"I will," I say. I smile weakly at her and say, "Thanks for the head's up, Win." She grins back.

"No problem," she replies. I look out the window and see Dada's silver car in the pick-up lane. I stand up and say,

"Let's go, Al. Dad's here." I start to walk away and Winry grabs my arm. I look at her and ask, "What?" Her chin quivers and I'm not sure what to say 'cause it seems like she's gonna cry.

"Please, just be careful, Ed," Winry practically begs. "I don't want you two getting hurt." She sniffles loudly and I'm not really sure what to do. I know how to comfort Al when he's upset but Winry? I'm at a loss despite knowing her for years. I hesitantly reach a hand out toward her and pat her head a couple times.

"It'll be okay," I assure her, though I'm not sure of that myself. "We'll be okay. Don't worry about us." Winry nods.

"Call me after therapy, okay, guys?" She says. We both nod.

"Will do," I tell her. I wave and say, "Later."

"Bye, Winry," Al says, Winry waving good-bye to us. We walk outside, Al looking at the snow-covered pavement.

"You okay?" I ask worriedly.

"I don't know," he says. "It's just…. Group was our thing, you know? It's like you said – it's a safe place to tell our story. If someone from school's there, it's not safe anymore." I nod.

"I know," I say, walking toward Dada's car. "But it'll be okay. Maybe she won't attend long." Al shrugs.

"I guess," he answers. We get into the car, Dada looking over at me and smiling.

"So?" He asks as I put my seat belt on, "How was school?"

"Boring," I reply. "It's syllabus week, Dad." Dad chuckles.

"True. Al?" Al shrugs from the backseat.

"Fine," he answers. "Kinda boring. How'd your J-Term class go?"

"It's syllabus week," Dad repeats, Al laughing lightly. "So it went fine."

"What are you teaching this year?" I ask. J-Term is a mini-semester the school Dada teaches at does. It's, like three and a half weeks long and it happens after Christmas and before spring semester. Dad usually has a J-Term class, but he rotates the same couple classes and teaches one every year. I can't remember which class he's teaching this year, though.

"I'm teaching that class on ancient chemistry and its ties to modern science," Dad says. "No lab, but an interesting class. Dual credit for chemistry and history, so it's a win-win for some students." I nod.

"Fascinating," I say blandly. Dada shakes his head and laughs.

"You did ask," Dad points out.

"Fair," I say, fidgeting slightly. Dad must notice because he asks,

"Is something wrong?" I shrug.

"I… I don't really know," I answer truthfully. "Some new girl from Urbana is gonna start coming to Dr. Hughes' group therapy on Wednesdays. I don't know how to feel about it." Dad grimaces.

"Oh, dear," he sighs. He stops at a red light, his eyes getting sad. "That could be a problem."

"It could be a huge problem," I say, Dad nodding.

"What do you boys want to do about it?" Dada asks, driving through the intersection.

"Brother wants to keep telling stories," Al answers. "It's our safe place." Dad nods.

"That's true," Dad agrees. "You boys never talked about the abuse until you opened up a few months ago in group. I'd hate to see that come to an end. Though it's painful to talk about, it's healthy for you to talk about it."

"What do you think we should do, Dad?" I ask, hoping Dad will just tell me what to do so I don't have to actually decide on a course of action. I'm already pretty anxious about this whole thing. The idea of someone from our school hearing our story makes me feel like I have holes in my lungs. It's hard to breathe. If she tells someone….

"I honestly don't know, honey," Dada answers and I groan softly. Awesome. Thanks, Dad. "All I can tell you is to ask Dr. Hughes and trust your gut. Do what feels right."

"What feels right?" Al questions. Dad nods.

"What I mean is, Al, if you walk in there and you feel like you need to tell your story, even though that girl from school will be listening, then do it," Dad clarifies. "But if you go in and it feels wrong to tell it, then don't and we'll figure something else out. I'm sure there's other teen group therapy sessions we can get plugged into if this girl proves to be a problem."

"That's what I'm scared of, Dada," I admit softly. "I'm scared that she won't be a problem at first. That I'll tell our story for a few weeks and nothing will happen. Then, one day – bam! I go to school and everyone knows. What if it feels right for now but we're wrong?"

"Then we'll figure it out," Dad tells me. I look at him and he sighs. "Look, Ed, I know you think that I have all the answers but I don't. I've made plenty of mistakes because something felt so right in the moment but it blew up in my face. But that's a part of growing up, boys. Sometimes things have to blow up in our face or we'd never grow. I know this blowing up isn't ideal and it won't be fun if it comes to that, but that's life. It's not fair, things blow up, but we grow when we learn how to move past that stuff."

"School'll be hell if she rats us out," I scoff.

"I know," Dad says sadly. "But I think trusting your gut's still the best thing to do. Ask Dr. Hughes what he thinks, too. Maybe he'll refer this girl to another group if you tell him she goes to your school. Who knows?" I never thought of that before. Maybe if we tell him we're worried about conflict of interest he'll tell her to get lost. Or maybe he won't. Either way, I'm really praying this doesn't blow up in my face. I'm gonna tell my story. I have to. And even though I don't really believe in God, I'm really begging him to not let this come back to bite me later.

We get to the building and Dad drops us off. He's not staying today which makes me super nervous. Of all the days for Dada to not sit in on group he picks today. He has to help Lucy with lab prep today. Barf. We walk in, Al holding my hand. I still can't believe that someone from school's gonna be at group. I wonder what my gut's gonna tell me when we get into that room. I know I said I wanna keep telling my story, and I do, but what if my gut tells me not to? What do I do then? I open the door and look around. I try to find an unfamiliar face and spot her near the back. She's a bigger girl with dark brown hair. It's shorter than Winry's but it's not, like, super short. I swallow hard, Al shaking beside me. Dr. Hughes is talking to someone else so I can't ask him about what I should do. I can't ask him if he thinks this new girl's gonna be an issue. So, instead, I feel my legs move toward that new girl.

"Ed?" Al asks softly. "What are you doing?"

"I have no idea," I answer, stopping near the new girl. She glances up at us and smiles briefly.

"Uh…." I vocalize, Al peeking out from behind me.

"Hi," Al says shyly. I glance back at Al, my poor brother shaking violently.

"Hi," she says back. "I'm Hannah."

"Alphonse," Al tells her, his voice shaking. "A-Alphonse Elric. You c-can c-c-call me Al." Al looks over at me and I grimace.

"Uh, I'm Edward," I say.

"Is Ed your little brother, Al?" Hannah asks and I glare at her.

"No," I tell her shortly. "I'm only, like, a little shorter than him and he's, like, way skinnier than me."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says quickly.

"It's okay," Al assures you. "Y-You didn't kn-know."

"So…. You guys from around here?" Hannah asks awkwardly.

"Born and raised," I answer.

"That means you go to Resembool Community High School, right?" Hannah asks. I cringe. Shoot!

"Yup," I answer, even though I really don't want to.

"What grade are you?" She asks.

"I'm a sophomore and Ally's a freshman," I tell her.

"Ally?" She questions in a sarcastic tone. Al whimpers and sinks behind me so I glare at her.

"It's a nickname," I say blandly. "Heard of 'em?"

"Cute," she comments snarkily. I glare harder and she shakes her head. "Sorry. I have three sisters." I stare blankly at her and she laughs nervously.

"What are you here for?" I ask, crossing my arms. I don't know what it is about this girl, this Hannah, but I don't like her. Was it teasing Al's nickname? Is it just the fact she goes to my school and is gonna hear my story? I don't know. I honestly don't care. I just don't like her.

"Brother," Al hisses worriedly. I lightly shove him away and Hannah laughs again.

"Oh, well, it's complicated," she replies awkwardly. "But if you must know, I've struggled with an eating disorder and depression for almost as long as I can remember. It's caused a lot of issues with kids at school and my family and my mom thought that maybe if I could just talk to a group of kids who have been through some other awful things, I might start feeling better." I nod. I see. I doubt that, Hannah.

"Sorry to hear that," I tell her and I hope I sound sincere. Even though I don't like her, I don't want her to know I don't like her. If she knew that I don't like her, she might just decide to make my life a living hell for no reason other than the fact I don't like her and she'll get some dirt on me during group so she could make my life hell.

"I'm so sorry," Al says, obviously sincere. "I can't imagine how hard that must be." I shake my head, my arms still crossed, and I'm fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

"Thanks," Hannah replies. "You?" Al and I quickly exchange glances. He asks if we should just go ahead and tell her. I nod because you know what – she's about to find out anyways.

"Abuse," I say shortly.

"Oh, my God, really?" Hannah asks, obviously shocked. I nod.

"Yup," I answer. "My step-mom abused me and Al for seven years. Abuse started when I was six and ended in seventh grade after I turned thirteen."

"Was it emotional?" Hannah questions, my heart pounding as I shake my head.

"It was everything except sex stuff," I tell her. "She'd beat us, scream at us, make fun of us, blame us for everything, lock us in closets, lie about us…. Am I missing anything, Al?" Al whimpers and I suddenly feel very guilty. His lip trembles and he shakes his head, hiding further behind me. "Oh, God, Al. I'm so sorry, buddy." Al rubs at his eyes, trying his best not to cry.

"I-It's o-okay," Al stutters anxiously. I shake my head.

"No, it's not, Ally. I'm so sorry." I insist guiltily.

"You guys okay over here?" Dr. Hughes asks, walking over. I shrug.

"I guess," I answer. He makes it over and I go on, "I was just talking to Hannah. She goes to our school. Just moved to Resembool from Urbana." Dr. Hughes nods.

"I see," Dr. Hughes says. "Did you mention how your mom's family lives in Champaign-Urbana?"

"Didn't get around to it," I tell him. "We mostly talked about why we're here."

"Then I'll take this opportunity to remind you kids about our confidentiality policy since you go to the same school," Dr. Hughes says. We all nod and he goes on, "Anything and everything said in this room by anyone does not leave this room. I know how tempting gossip can be, but it is crucial that we keep each other safe by guarding what is said in this room. I'm sure you all understand why talking about each other is something we should avoid."

"That's all anyone ever did to me in Urbana," Hannah tells us. "I can't imagine doing it to someone else." Dr. Hughes nods.

"That's good," he comments. He glances over at me and Al and smiles. "And I'm sure my two best patients won't talk about you, either." I grin weakly.

"You bet," I reply, trying to loosen up a bit.

"So, you boys gonna tell more of your story today?" Dr. Hughes asks. I nod.

"Planning to, yeah," I say, eying Hannah. She smiles weakly at me and I turn away to keep looking at Dr. Hughes while still fighting to not roll my eyes.

"That's good," Dr. Hughes says. "Why don't you guys find a seat? I'm about to get everything started." I nod and take Al's hand.

"Yeah, okay," I say. "You ready, Al?" Al nods.

"Mmm, I think so," Al replies.

"You guys can sit next to me," Hannah tells us and I cringe.

"Yeah," I say, exaggerating the word a bit, "Sure. C'mon, Al." I sit down, Al sitting in between me and Hannah. I'm still holding Al's hand and Hannah's staring.

"What?" I question.

"Do you guys always hold hands?" Hannah asks us.

"Yeah," I say bluntly, facing the center of the circle of chairs. "Got anything to say about it?"

"It's just a little weird, that's all," Hannah snaps softly. "Are you always such a jerk?"

"Hey," Al cuts in. "Please don't fight. Brother, be nice. Hannah's new here and she is all by herself so be nice. And Hannah, please don't call Ed names. He just doesn't like it when people make fun of us holding hands. Let's just not fight, okay?" I sigh and nod.

"Sorry, Al," I say softly. "I won't fight."

"Sorry," Hannah says, not looking at either of us. I watch as everyone sits down and I glance over at Al.

"I really am sorry," I tell him. "I'm just a little frazzled today."

"I know," Al replies. "It's okay. I'm on edge, too."

"Okay, guys," Dr. Hughes says loudly. "Let's get started. We have a new member to welcome to our group today. Hannah? Would you like to introduce yourself?" Hannah nods but not after groaning softly first.

"Yeah, okay," she mumbles. Hannah stands up and clears her throat before saying, "I'm Hannah Bennett. I'm from Champaign-Urbana and I'm a sophomore. My family moved here for my dad's job. I like tea, Dr. Who, and writing."

"Thank you, Hannah," Dr. Hughes says. "It's nice to have you. Now, let's get started. Ed? Would you like to kick off our first session of the year?" I grin.

"How would you feel about Al kicking it off and me sweeping in after he's finished?" I ask.

"That sounds wonderful," Dr. Hughes replies with a smile. I turn to Al and he nods. No going back now. Al takes a deep breath and begins;

"After I told my first grade teacher about the abuse, life for Brother and me got so much worse than I could have ever imagined. When Dada went away after that, the beatings got so much worse. She began to use objects instead of just her fists on the both of us. I mean, she always used the chain on Ed and that did get worse, but she started using belts and metal rods to hit us with. Vanessa also started to burn us a lot more often and started to lock in closets a lot more. Starving us got worse, too, and part of me began to wonder if she was actually out to kill us. The way things had increased, it seemed like a real possibility in my mind.

"The summer before second grade, Dad was gone a lot. He would be gone for two or three weeks, be home for a week or two, then be gone for another two or three weeks. When Dada was home, he was hardly ever home so if Vanessa was too rough, he barely noticed. He was working even when he was home so she could rough us up as much as she wanted and Dada would never see our injuries. That just made it easier to torture us. I honestly didn't think things could get any worse but I was wrong. Things were only gonna get worse for me and Brother as the years went on.

"Early in that school year, things were pretty bad. I had begun stuttering when I was nervous which, if I'm being honest, was all the time. My hands started shaking and they've never really stopped. My body was so beaten down from almost three years of abuse that I wasn't sure how much longer I could manage." Al pauses, his eyes briefly looking at the floor before he looks back up. The trunk part of the story is coming up. Al hates talking about the trunk. He hasn't talked about it since he told Dr. Hughes it happened a while back. It's clear he's working up the nerve, his face scrunching up in concentration.

"Dada had been gone for almost two weeks. Vanessa constantly had me and Brother doing housework, even if we were too little to do most of it and we had some homework so we barely slept. And since we weren't getting fed, things were hard. On top of all that stuff, the issues I was having in first grade hadn't gone away. It was hard being the second grader who peed his pants in school, but that's who I was. That's who Vanessa made me into. So after the second accident I had in three days, Vanessa beat me so hard I couldn't go to school for the rest of the time Dad was away. While Ed was in school and Vanessa was at work, I stayed home and did chores. Some were pretty basic, but other things she had me do were ridiculous. I had to vacuum even though I couldn't push it around, I had to trim the bushes in the back yard, that sort of thing. There was one afternoon, though, were after Ed got back from school, she for some reason had us trade jobs. Brother was going to dust which was something I always did and I was going to unload then load the dishwasher. I hadn't really done that before but I was too scared to tell her I wasn't sure I could.

"I started working and for a while, things were going okay. Sure, my hands were shaking but I was managing. That is, I was managing until my stupid shaking hands made it impossible to hold a glass. I dropped it, the cup shattering into a million little pieces on my kitchen floor. I remember how I stopped breathing as the cup fell in slow motion, shattering like it would in a dramatic movie. I quickly hopped off the counter, trying my best to clean up the mess before Vanessa ever found out it happened. I tried to clean it all up myself, but cut my hand in my panic. I started crying, hoping Vanessa wouldn't hear. Luckily, Brother heard me so he hurried into help me, but it was too late. Just seconds after Ed and I started cleaning up, Vanessa was in there screaming at us both. She asked me what good I was to anyone if I couldn't even us my hands and that's when she grabbed me. I was so scared she was going to burn or even break my hands but she didn't. What she did was far worse than that.

"Vanessa dragged me outside to the driveway and I started crying because I was terrified that she was going to hit me with the car or lock me out of the house. She told me to quit crying and opened the trunk of her car. I would have been confused, but she didn't really give me time to be. Before I realized it she had forced my hands into the trunk and slammed it shut, right on my tiny hands. I screamed loudly, Vanessa slapping me across the face to shut me up while Brother watched quietly from the porch. She opened the trunk and smashed my hands again and it took everything I was to not wail loudly for Dada to come save me. Vanessa opened the trunk a third time, but instead of smashing my hands like before, she grabbed me by the neck and threw me inside the trunk. I heard Ed ask what was happening to me as Vanessa said she hoped that I would learn how to use my hands. Before I could ask her myself what she was doing, she slammed the trunk and left me in there for two days." Al stops talking and turns to me. My turn. I inhale sharply and begin;

"It wasn't long after that that I began getting desperate. Vanessa was going days upon days without feeding us. She was shoving more house-hold cleaner down our throats than ever before and the beatings were getting worse. We were sleeping outside more and more and I honestly didn't know what to do. I had Al to look after and I felt like was failing big time at that. And in a way, I kind was. I couldn't even protect myself against Vanessa. How the hell did I expect to keep my little brother safe when I couldn't even keep myself safe? I remember one night around my ninth birthday I was doing my homework, my stomach growling angrily at me, and I was thinking about how useless I was. I had no way to protect us. Part of it was that I was scared shitless of her and what she'd do to me or Al or maybe even Dada if I stood up for us, but part of it was I didn't know how. And that's when it dawned on me. If I could learn how to fight, maybe I'd stand a chance! Maybe I could finally protect Al and get us out of our shitty situation! I didn't know if it would work, but it was worth a try.

"I started sneaking on to the computer in Dada's office at night after that, looking up fighting methods and trying to find someone within walking distance I could learn from. Turns out, though, there's not a lot of dojos in central Illinois, especially in hick farming towns like Resembool. I had almost given up hope when a Google search led me to the Central Illinois Martial Arts Association website. That organization has tournaments a lot where the best of the best compete in this area for prizes and shit. My breathing got heavy as I scrolled through the list of recent winners, praying that someone by some miracle lived in Resembool. Sure enough, I found someone. A woman in Resembool named Izumi Curtis won the tournament in 2007. I quickly wrote down her address and hurried to bed, planning on ditching school to walk to this Izumi woman's house and beg her to teach me martial arts.

"The next morning Vanessa decided to beat me and Al so hard 'cause we asked to have a little breakfast that we couldn't go to school. That was fine by me 'cause as soon as her ass left the house, I was walking to Izumi Curtis' house. Now, I knew I couldn't leave Al by himself – he was only seven and too little to take care of himself – so now Al was coming with me. I actually figured that was a good thing. Al learning how to defend himself was good, too. I thought it was a good idea for us both to learn. As soon as we were sure Vanessa was gone for the day, we snuck out of our house and walked to Izumi Curtis' house. It took almost an hour to get there, but we made it. I remember being so scared as I stood on her porch that I almost ran away before knocking, but Al shaking beside me reminded me why we walked all the way there to begin with. I knocked, my heart pounding in my ears as I waited for this Izumi to open her door.

'Yes?' A voice came as the door opened. I stared up at that woman, her narrow eyes searching the two strange little kids on her porch and she crossed her arms. 'What do you want? It's not popcorn season, is it?'

'W-We're not boy scouts,' I informed her meekly. 'Are you Izumi Curtis?' She nodded mutely. Al inched closer to me, whimpering softly as she stared us down.

'I am,' she answered verbally. 'But why do you two brats care?'

'We care 'cause you can be our teacher,' I said frantically, scared she was about to slam her door in my face and never open it for me again. 'Please! We need you to teach us!'

'Teach you what and why?' She demanded. I licked my lips and glanced over at poor Al who was shaking so hard I thought he was gonna vibrate through the ground and end up in China or something.

'Please, Teacher,' I begged, my throat stiffening up. 'Please. Teach us martial arts. We hafta learn so we aren't scared anymore. Please.' I don't know what changed or what I said that changed her mind. Her face softened and she squatted down in front of us. We instinctively flinched as she moved, unsure of what this strange adult was going to do.

'I don't take students,' she told me softly. 'Why are you scared? Why do you need to learn how to defend yourselves?' I shook my head, my eyes filling with tears as I thought she was going to turn us away 'cause I couldn't answer her question.

'I… I can't say,' I told her. 'Never mind. Sorry to bother you, Teacher.' I turned to leave but she grabbed my arm. I flinched violently, my breathing picking up dramatically.

'It's okay,' she assured me. 'I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?'

'I'm Ed and this is my little brother, Al,' I told her. 'We need your help but you can't tell anyone, okay? This has to be a secret or we'll get in trouble!' When I was a kid, I wasn't sure why she agreed. But looking back on it, I think she sort of knew we were getting abused. We were secretive, twitchy, and desperate. I think she had a feeling we were abused, but never said anything until I confided in her months later about what Vanessa was doing to us. But in that moment as a nine-year-old kid, shivering in February on this lady's porch, I had no idea why she said,

'I'll teach you both. That's a promise.'"

My watch goes off, signaling that my turn to tell my story is up. I silence it and like usual, other kids begin telling their own stories. I sigh, thinking about Teacher. She really saved us in a lot of ways. She fed us, bathed us, and gave us a hobby that we felt like was gonna protect us one day. Sure, we were always too scared to actually use it on her, but I liked feeling like I could if I had to one day. Hannah keeps glancing over at me like she can't believe what I said. I shake my head and roll my eyes. She should have figured that what we went through was terrible when I told her we were abused. I don't know why she has that stupid look on her face. Anyway, group ends and I'm eager to leave before anyone can talk to me. Unfortunately for me, though, I'm sitting next to the new girl who apparently wants to torture me by talking to me about my story after my watch goes off.

"Everything you said…. It's true?" Hannah asks, collecting her purse. I scowl at her but nod.

"Yeah, and our dad's waiting for us so we gotta go," I tell her bluntly. "C'mon, Al."

"Wait, hold on," Hannah says hurrying after us. "When did it all end for you? How'd you get out? And why do you still live with your dad after everything that happened?"

"First," I say, irritated by her rapid-fire questions, "I already told you when it ended. I was thirteen, Al was eleven. Two, we haven't gotten to that part of the story and I ain't telling you right now. I'm too mentally exhausted from today's group to do that, plus I barely know you and that's not the type of thing I talk about with strangers. Third, it's none of your business why we still live with Dada but, again, I haven't gotten there in my story so just wait a few more weeks and you'll learn why. Now, leave me alone so I can go home."

"I was just asking, you jack ass," Hannah snaps. "Don't be such a jerk."

"Hey, shut up! You're being nosey! After my watch goes off, I'm done telling stories. Why don't you whine about your petty problems someplace else?!" I yell.

"Petty problems?! What's the matter with you?!" Hannah retorts loudly.

"Guys," Al says meekly, shaking violently, "P-Please st-st-stop."

"Shut it, Al," I snap. "I'm not done telling this girl off for asking questions when she shouldn't." Al whimpers loudly and he sinks into himself as Hannah snorts loudly.

"So that's how you treat the brother you claim to care about so much?" She questions. "You yell at him and make him cry?"

"Shut the hell up!" I yell. "You don't know a damn thing about me!"

"I know that you're a bully and a jerk!" Hannah informs me heatedly.

"Shut up!" Al cries miserably. "Please! D-Don't f-fight. Mom w-w-wouldn't w-want you t-to fight, B-Brother." I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

"You're right," I tell him gently, pulling him into a hug. "You're right. I'm sorry, buddy. I won't fight." I sigh and shake my head, looking over Al so I can say, "Sorry, Hannah. I just don't like it when people ask questions about the abuse. I'm sorry."

"Well, I'm sorry I called you a jerk," Hannah says stiffly. "I don't actually think you are one. I shouldn't have asked." I wanna rudely agree, but I've stressed Al out enough for one afternoon. So instead I nod at her and say,

"Well, see you around, I guess."

"Bye," Hannah says, watching us go. I really don't know what it is about that girl, but something about her rubs me the wrong way. Maybe it's the way she's assuming things or asking questions. Honestly, though, I don't care about why I don't like her. I only know that I don't and I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure what she heard never gets heard by anyone else until I'm ready to tell them myself.


	41. Babies Don't Cause Cancer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch table rules: To talk to Al, you talk to the whole table.

No one had heard what I talked about in group on Wednesday when I got to school that day. I was honestly super anxious that that girl Hannah had spilled everything since she and I couldn't seem to get along but she hadn't. Thank God, too, but if she had I'd have to, like, drop out or change schools or something. Now it's Friday morning so it's pancake day. We're sitting in our IHOP, Dada messing around on his phone. Probably reading emails. Typical. I know Dad tries to keep work separate from us, but it's hard sometimes. Being a teacher especially. Students and other professors constantly email him and he has to answer. It sucks, but it is what it is. I pick at my pancakes and sigh. I'm really tired. Nobody in my house slept last night. It was the worst night we've had in a while and that's really saying something considering how shitty we've been sleeping the last couple months. I yawn, Al laying his head down next to me.

"C'mon, Al," I say softly.

"Just five minutes," Al complains, leaving his face on the table.

"Boys, I know you're both exhausted but you need to stay awake," Dad says, putting his phone away finally and looking at us. "Al, honey, lift your head. I want to see your bright, happy face." Al groans and lifts his head, his "bright, happy face" glaring at Dada. Dad laughs and says, "Very good."

"Dad, can't we just skip today?" I whine and I don't even care that I'm whining. Dad shakes his head.

"Ed, it's only your third day back," he tells me. "You need to go to school." I groan loudly.

` "C'mon, Dad," I complain.

"Edward, you're going," Dad says. "Let's not get into it over breakfast, okay?"

"Okay?" I grumble, crossing my arms.

"You boys still just going over syllabi this week?" Dad asks, trying to change the subject.

"I have an intro lab today, which reminds me." I dig in my backpack and grab my lab safety sheet and hand it to Dada. "Can you sign?"

"Of course," Dad answers, signing my form. "You got one, too, Al?"

"Uh, yeah," Al yawns. "I'll get it." Al looks for his paper and Dad hands mine back to me. I put it away and watch as Al gives Dada his.

"So, are you behaving, Ed?" Dad asks me. I raise a brow.

"Huh?" I ask.

"Al told me that you aren't Hannah's biggest fan," Dad says, giving Al the paper back. I shrug, my arms still crossed.

"Does it matter?" I ask. "I don't like what I don't like. That includes people, Dada."

"That's fine, sweetie, but you should try to be civil," Dada tells me.

"I can't believe Al ratted me out!" I cry heatedly.

"Sorry!" Al cries, flinching. "It just sorta slipped out! I didn't mean to tell!" I sigh and shake my head.

"I know, sorry," I say. "It's just…. I don't know."

"Is there a reason you don't like her?" Dad asks and I shrug.

"I don't know," I mumble. "It doesn't matter."

"Well, honey, if Al and Winry befriend her, it might matter," Dad informs me. I shrug.

"Sure, yeah, I know," I reply. "And I'll be nice. I have been so far. Well, besides Wednesday, but I was all screwed up. Her being at group made me so freaking anxious I could hardly think straight."

"I know," Dad says, Al resting his face on the table again.

"It'll be okay, Brother," Al tells me tiredly. "If you don't like her, I'll try not to be her friend if she bugs you that much." I sigh guiltly.

"That's… not what I want you to do," I tell him. "If you want to be her friend, be her friend. Just 'cause I don't like her doesn't mean you can't." Dad smiles a quick, proud smile at me and my blood feels like honey.

"That's very mature of you, Ed," Dad praises. "Good boy." I smile brightly, not caring how much like a little kid I probably look like. Dada called me a good boy. That's all I really care about. Dad checks his watch and I take a bite.

"It's about time, boys," he warns. "Finish eating so we can go." Al nods and hurriedly eats a bit so he's not hungry later. I finish my food, Dad pulling his phone out again. I sigh, my throat tightening up as Dad focuses on the phone and doesn't talk to us again for the rest of the morning.

Classes go by pretty quick and before I know it it's lunch time. I walk to my locker, Winry walking with me. She's asking me about the weekend and I don't have very much to say. I'm really tired and that whole phone business with Dad really made me upset and anxious this morning so I don't say much. Winry's cool, though, so she doesn't press me when I don't talk. She understands that I don't talk much when I'm tired or anxious or whatever. It makes her worry, but she doesn't force me to talk which is nice. We make it to my locker and I pull my lunch out. Our backs rest against the lockers and we wait for Al, Winry playing with her hair.

"So," she says, "Winter dance is in February. First weekend to be exact."

"That's fabulous, but I was planning on celebrating my birthday that day," I tell her blandly. "Besides, you know I can't stand dances, Winry. We the hell would you bring it up?"

"Well, I don't know!" She cries indignantly. "I just thought, you know, since we were going to the spring formal maybe…. Never mind. You're right. That's birthday weekend."

"Sorry," I say softly. "I shouldn't have been rude about it. I'm just beyond tired."

"Bad night?" Winry asks quietly so no one else can hear. I nod.

"Uh, yeah, you could say that," I chuckle darkly. "Let's just say Al cried for nearly two hours and peed the bed twice. And that's just Al."

"Poor Al," Winry comments, her eyes downcast. "Twice? Really?" I nod again.

"Yeah, that happens sometimes," I tell her. "He pees a lot, you know? Sometimes he pees every hour so…. Well, you know."

"I know," Winry laughs lightly. "We can't drive for more than two hours without taking a break for Al." I laugh, too, Al walking over.

"Hey, buddy," I say, smiling at him.

"Hi," he says. "Ready?"

"You bet," I tell him, Al yawning loudly.

"Sorry you didn't sleep well last night," Winry tells him. Al smiles weakly at her.

"It's okay," Al assures her. "Tomorrow's Saturday so I can sleep all day if I wanna."

"True," Winry laughs. We get to the cafeteria, Paninya waving us down. We hurry over and sit down, a smirk on her face.

"What the hell's your problem?" I ask her.

"Oh, nothing, Elric," she tells me, her feet on the table. I shove them down and she cries, "Hey!"

"Talk," I demand.

"Ugh, fine," Paninya complains. "I heard something pretty interesting today in math."

"What?" Winry asks, curious.

"I heard that someone is planning on asking an Elric to winter dance," Paninya replies. "Problem is, though, I don't know which one or who'll be doing the asking. Thought that was funny, especially if they ask Ed. Can't wait for you to turn whoever they are down, Eddo."

"Ha ha," I laugh sarcastically. "I kinda doubt it's me. Win already semi-asked me and I turned her down." Winry blushes really hard and shakes her head.

"Hey! Traitor!" Winry cries, embarrassed. "I didn't really ask him, Pan. I just, you know, mentioned it was happening and he reminded me that weekend is his birthday weekend so we're celebrating that with Al and Uncle Vic and…. I didn't ask him to the dance, okay?!"

"Okay, didn't really need the details, dudes," Paninya tells us. "I totally forgot your birthday was that week. Are you having a party?"

"I haven't had a birthday party since I turned five," I tell her blandly. "So, no. I'll probably just go to a movie or something with Al and Dad and Winry and maybe invite a couple more people. I've never been much of a party guy."

"Well, I hope I get an invite before anyone else," Paninya announces, the rest of our friends sitting down.

"So, I heard something kinda interesting," Ling begins, a smirk on his face.

"Let me guess – you heard someone wants to ask me or Al to the winter dance but who didn't hear who's doing the asking or which brother's gonna get asked." I say. Ling's face falls.

"Aww, man," Ling groans. "Who told you?"

"Paninya," I answer. "Look, it doesn't matter. That's the Saturday after my birthday and my dad'll want to celebrate on that day so I can't go. And even if it wasn't my birthday weekend, Al and me still probably wouldn't go."

"Dances seem lame," Al adds. "I mean, maybe not lame but…. I don't know. I just don't think I'd like them all that much. I hate loud music and Brother told me it always smells like BO."

"Well, it does," Ling confirms. "And if the music isn't loud enough, don't worry 'cause I promise the screaming teenagers will be."

"Ugh, teenagers," Paninya complains.

"So, no one has any idea who's gonna ask Ed or Al to the dance?" Rose asks.

"Not a clue," Winry replies. "I mean, I thought maybe Mei would ask Al, but Mei doesn't actually go here yet."

"Won't stop my sister from asking Al," Ling says sheepishly. Al blushes really hard.

"If she asked, I don't know if I could turn her down, honestly," Al admits and I smirk.

"Careful, Al," I warn. "Don't go wearing your heart on your sleeve." Al smiles weakly and starts eating his lunch.

"Well, whoever's asking which brother better do it in front of all of us," Lan Fan says. "That's a free laugh I don't want to miss." I shake my head.

"You guys are the worst," I inform them all, food in my mouth.

"Hey." I groan softly and turn my head around to see that Hannah girl standing behind me. I swallow and stare at her.

"What do you want?" I ask, my friends all staring at her.

"Al?" She asks. "Could I talk to you?" Al blinks in confusion and wipes milk away from his mouth.

"Sure," Al says. Hannah fidgets nervously, her eyes scanning our lunch table.

"Uh, could we talk away from these guys?" Hannah asks, Al starting to shake slightly.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," Al squeaks.

"Lunch table rules," Ling cuts in loudly, a smile on his face. "To talk to Al, the dear little brother of our Eddo, you must sit down and eat with us. Them's the rules."

"Yup, we can't change the rules for just one person," Paninya agrees, going along with the bull shit that Ling just made up. Lan Fan scoots over and makes room for Hannah.

"Here's a spot right across from him," Lan Fan says, Hannah staring at us all.

"You guys are losers," Hannah comments. "But I guess I'll do this in front of you." Hannah sits down, my poor baby brother quivering in his chair.

"Get on with it," I instruct. "You're making Al anxious."

"Oh, sorry," Hannah says. "Then I'll, uh, make this quick. Al? Would you…. I mean, I think you're cute so…."

"Oh, my God," Paninya breathes as my eyes widen.

"Do you want to go to the winter dance with me?" Hannah blurts in a rush, her face turning pink. Al face turns bright red as Paninya stares expectantly at both of them.

"Think we solved that mystery," Lan Fan whispers to Ling who chuckles softly under his breath. Al twists his shirt in his hands, licking his lips anxiously.

"Oh, wow," he says nervously. "I've never been to a dance before."

"You really think Ally's cute?" Winry asks, baffled. Hannah blushes even harder and nods.

"Yeah…." She trails off, Al still anxiously twisting his shirt. "His eyes are absolutely gorgeous. I love how they change colors."

"Did someone set you up to this?" I demand, not sure this is legit. I mean, she seems sincere, but people can be good actors when someone's pulling the strings.

"Of course not," Hannah snaps. "I really think your brother's cute and I wanna go to the dance with him."

"Thanks, Hannah, but I can't," Al tells her softly, his voice shaking. Hannah's face falls.

"What?" She asks. "How come?"

"Well, um, that weekend is Brother's birthday weekend," Al explains nervously. "His birthday is February 3rd and the dance is February 6th, so we're gonna celebrate on the 6th. It's his sweet sixteen, you know, so it's kind of a big deal." Hannah's brow furrows.

"You mean you'd pick your brother over the dance?" Hannah questions in disbelief. Al simply smiles, though, and nods.

"Well, yeah," Al replies. "I thought that was obvious." Hannah stands up and shakes her head.

"You're so weird!" She cries. "I mean, I thought…. Never mind! Forget I asked." Hannah hurries away from the table and Al stands up.

"Hannah! I'm sorry!" Al calls. "You can stay if you want!"

"Al, stop it," I instruct. "She's just upset. Let her go." Al sighs and sits back down.

"I didn't mean to hurt her feelings," Al says softly.

"It's okay, dude," Ling assures him. "You've got your priorities straight. If she can't figure that out, forget her."

"Do you even like her?" Lan Fan asks. Al shrugs, picking at his food.

"Well, I do, but not like that," Al answers. "She's new and she's really shy and she seems nice. I just kinda wanna be her friend, but I think I've burned that bridge."

"I'll talk to her in shop today, okay?" Winry offers. "I'll let her know you want to be friends."

"Thanks, Win," Al says.

"I think we're ignoring something pretty huge, guys," Paninya tells us.

"What are you talking about?" Rose asks. Paninya grins really wide and gestures to Al.

"Guys! Our Al is all grown up! Girls are asking him out!" Paninya says happily, Al sinking in his seat.

"Okay, cut it out," I tell her. Al's not theirs. Al's just mine. He's my little brother. We don't share him just 'cause he's cute and innocent and fun to hang out with. I don't share him with anyone but Dada. Al's just my thing. Not theirs. I just can't say any of that out loud at risk of sounding possessive and crazy, so I don't. Instead I just say, "You're embarrassing him."

"Sorry, Ally," Paninya apologizes. "We're just fond of you, kiddo." Al grins weakly and ruffle his hair.

"Yeah," I say fondly, Al giggling lightly. "You could say that." Al smiles again and I wonder what Dad'll say when he hears a girl actually asked our Al out.

The day goes by pretty fast after lunch. There's not much going on in school since the semester just started, but I did actually get assigned some homework for the weekend. I'll probably do it after therapy so it's not hanging over my head all weekend. Besides, it's math homework so I'll have some fun doing it. The final bell rings and I hurry to my locker. Winry told me to meet her there and we'd go get Al at his. I wonder how Winry's talk with Hannah went. Not that I care all that much about Hannah's feelings, 'cause I don't. What I care about is Al. I don't want Hannah spreading rumors or some shit 'cause Al turned her down for the dance. If that happened, I wouldn't care that Dada doesn't want me to fight or that I gave up burning shit. Because if Hannah did anything to hurt Al the way she used to, I'd do whatever I had to to protect Al. I make it to my locker and Winry's already there.

"Hey," I greet, Winry looking at me.

"Hey," she repeats. Her voice sounds weird and I get worried.

"Something wrong?" I ask anxiously, my heart thumping.

"Well… I don't really know, honestly," Winry tells me.

"Huh?" I ask.

"I talked to Hannah in shop and it was… interesting," Winry explains. I shoot her a look and Winry shrugs. "At first, she was super pissed. She was all 'just 'cause he was abused doesn't mean he can be a dick to people' and I got snippy with her."

"She said that?" I question darkly. Winry's eyes get sad and she nods.

"Yeah," Winry replies. "She said other stuff, too, but I'm not gonna repeat it. If I did, you'd be so pissed I think you'd beat her head in." I cross my arms, my teeth grinding.

"And I still might," I grumble angrily.

"I wouldn't blame you," Winry tells me, "But this is where things got weird. After she was done talking smack on Al, she totally switched her tune. She apologized, said she didn't mean anything she said, and told me she was happy that Al wanted to be her friend."

"You mean she did a complete 360?" I ask.

"Yeah, it was really weird," Winry says with a nod. "I was so angry with her, and I still kinda am, but she seemed to really mean it when she apologized. I'm not saying to keep Al away from her or to be worried that she's gonna talk about you guys behind your backs, but I am saying that you need to be cautious around her. I think she's a nice girl, but that she has trouble controlling her feelings."

"No excuse," I mutter.

"Didn't say it was," Winry replies. "Now, c'mon. We need to go before Al worries." I nod and we start walking toward Al's locker.

I stare at my shoes, still at a loss with all this Hannah stuff. One minute, she's asking Al to the dance and the next…. Well, the next she's claiming Al's a dick and he's only acting like one 'cause he was abused. First of all, Al's never acted like a dick in his life. Never, not once. Al is legit the nicest person on this friggin' planet. To suggest otherwise is crazy talk. Second, Al would never blame the abuse for any shitty behavior on his part. If he's being a jerk or being grumpy or something, he fully admits it every time. He apologizes then stops acting that way. Third, and I think this is the most important part, turning Hannah down isn't acting like a dick. He was really nice and stuff. He even said he wanted to be friends. I mean, come on! What more does she want?! If nicely turning someone down for a dance makes a guy a dick, I can't imagine what she would have called him if he was mean about it. I also wonder what Hannah considers dick-ish behavior if something that simple qualifies in her mind. Does helping her with homework make someone a dick?! Does asking her about her weekend make someone a dick?! For crying out loud!

All this shit with Hannah just makes me so anxious about the future. I mean, sure, this time she didn't talk shit about Al but what about next time? Or the time after that? Not knowing who or what will set her off is like being in remission from some disease. Going to the doctor is like playing Russian Roulette or something. You never know which appointment will give you the worst news you've ever heard. As terrible as it is, all I can think about is when Mom was in remission. I don't really remember a lot about it, to be honest. I know she was in remission for a while before she got it again, but I was really little when all that went down. But what I do remember is when a doctor found spots on Mama's liver. They weren't sure at first if the spots were cancerous, but I remember that every time the phone rang everyone was terrified it was the doctor calling to confirm the spots were cancerous. And the shitty part about that story is, eventually it was the doctor. So that's why I'm anxiously sure that one day, I don't know when, but one day Hannah's gonna start a rumor or spread tales of our abuse throughout the school 'cause one of us accidently pisses her off. I don't know when it'll happen, but I know it will. Just like the phone call confirming Mom's cancer came back, it's gonna happen.

I sigh and shake my head. All this could just be the anxiety talking. I might be so anxious that I've transcended normal human consciousness and I can't think straight. Or I could just be so freaking anxious that reality and my anxious thoughts have blurred together and I can't tell one from the other. Yeah, the second one's probably more likely. I kinda doubt it's the transcended human consciousness-thing. I look around and realize we've made it to Al's locker. He's not here, yet, but it's still pretty early so he'll get here. Unless…. Unless something – or someone – is holding him up. I anxiously look around, my heart pounding wildly as sweat beads on my forehead. Where is he? Where is Al? I tap my foot, my teeth grinding as I anxiously wait for my little brother to show up at his locker. I see Winry pull her phone out and look at the time, her brow furrowing.

"If Al's any longer, you guys might be late for therapy," she comments. I nod, trying not to let on just how anxious I am. Where's Al? I try to breathe normal but it feels like my lungs have holes in them. I can't get the rhythm right and my hands are starting to sweat. I need to find Al.

"We should go find him," I manage to say without completely panicking. Winry shrugs.

"I don't think so," she disagrees. "He's probably just held up in class or something." My brow furrows.

"But what if he's not!" I insist loudly. "That Hannah chick could be giving him trouble!"

"Ed, I don't think so," Winry tells me. "I told you she felt bad about what she said. He's probably just slow or maybe class was let out late or something. He'll be here." I shake my head, my chest heaving. "Ed, calm down. Al's fine." Winry's words do nothing to calm me down. Al's not fine. I can feel it.

"I gotta go get him," I announce, leaving Al's locker.

"Ed!" Winry calls, hanging back. "Ed! He's fine! Chill out!" I don't answer her as I stomp away. I know that Winry tries, but she doesn't understand how it feels to be so anxious you think that if you don't do something, you'll drop dead. She doesn't understand just how important to me that Al's safe and happy. She doesn't understand. Nobody does.

Kids push passed me in the hallway, all of them fighting to get to the parking lot so they can leave. I scan the crowd and I can't find Al mixed in with it. I shake my head, my heart pounding like it's gonna explode, and continue toward Al's last class of the day – biology with that douche bag Mr. Murdoch. I walk up the stairs, still kinda hoping that I'll run into Al before I make it to his class but I don't have any luck. I hurry to the classroom and peek in, my breath hitching when Al's not there. It's completely empty. I start panting, racking my brain for all the possible routes from Mr. Murdoch's class to Al's locker. I hurry down the hall, my body trembling as I search for Al. I get to a staircase and peer down, gasping when I see Hannah and Al talking near the staircase on the second floor.

"Al!" I cry, practically running down the stairs. Al turns and a smile spreads across his face.

"Brother," he says happily. I run over and engulf him in a big hug, my breathing irregular and panicked.

"I was so worried," I pant, hugging him tighter. Al hugs me back, his constant tremor rubbing my back.

"It's okay," he comforts. "I'm just running late, promise." I let go, remembering Hannah's watching. I look around Al and glare at her.

"What did she want?" I ask Al. Al blinks.

"Hmm?" He hums. "Oh, well, she just wanted to talk." I narrow my eyes.

"Really?" I question.

"Yeah," Al answers. "Hannah told me a girl she knows form a town nearby might be coming to group next week. Her name's –"

"Al, c'mon," I cut in, Al's face falling. "We need to go or we'll be late to therapy." Al sighs and nods.

"Yeah, okay," Al says, allowing me to lead him away.

"You know," Hannah says, "He's not your kid." I pause, my brow lowering angrily over my eyes. I turn to face her.

"Excuse me?" I demand, Al quivering behind me.

"You treat him like some stupid, helpless little kid," Hannah goes on. "You act like he can't make his own decisions. He's not allowed to talk to people you disapprove of. You belittle him and scold him like a child. You're possessive and controlling, forcing him to do whatever it is you want to do. How you treat him is almost abusive, I'd say." My eyes widen, unable to believe what she just said.

"Th-That's…. That's not true!" I cry, my throat closing up as bubbles begin to rise in my throat. I sniff loudly, trying my best not to cry like a big baby. I feel Al move out from behind me, his tremor worse than it's been in a while.

"Hannah, shut up," Al says angrily. "What you just said about Ed is the furthest thing from the truth. He loves me and just wants to make sure nobody hurts me. If you don't like him, that's fine, but you can't talk to him that way. If you can't be nice to Brother, than we can't be friends. I didn't turn you because he doesn't like you or anything like that. I turned you down because the idea of the dance makes so anxious I could barf and it's Ed's birthday weekend. I want to be your friend, but being nice to my brother is part of the deal. If that bothers you, then we probably shouldn't talk anymore." Hannah stares at Al, obviously trying to process what he said. I wanna say something, but the dumb bubbles have trapped my words like they used to and I can't find my voice.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "I was out of line. I… I guess I just don't understand the two of you. My sisters and I fight more than we do anything. My little sister would total pick going to a dance with guy over my birthday so I just I just don't get how you can choose your brother over something that might make you happy." I expect Al to start yelling or something, but instead he smiles.

"Brother does make me happy," Al tells her. Hannah stares some more and Al shakes his head. "Look, you'll probably never understand me and Ed. And that's okay but you can't throw that horrible word around and not expect me to get upset. If you ever accuse Ed of that again, I will hurt you. That's a promise." Hannah's eyes widen.

"Hurt me? What do you mean?" Hannah asks.

"I don't like using martial arts that way," Al says softly. "I mainly use it as a way to make my core stronger so my insides get strong, too. But if you say that Ed's abusive again, I might must use it on you."

"Is that a threat?" Hannah questions, her voice shaking. "I thought we were friends!"

"We are," Al assures her. "I really like you. I think you're nice and I'd never threaten anyone. I'm just warning you. We don't take that word lightly and what you said was terrible. Just don't talk like that, okay?" Hannah narrows her eyes but nods.

"Martial arts?" She asks.

"Brother and I started learning when he was nine and I was seven. We're on about the level of a black belt. At least, that's what our teacher says." Hannah laughs lightly.

"Look, I am sorry about what I said," Hannah tells us. "I just… I like Al so much and… I don't know. I guess it clouded my brain. I know I shouldn't say that. I think Ed's nice too, it's just harder to find." I glare at her and Hannah shakes her head. "You guys should go before you miss your appointment." Al nods and takes my hand.

"I wouldn't actually hurt you, you know," Al informs her softly. "I've never hurt anyone with my martial arts, not even someone who really deserved it." I lower my eyes and hear Al say, "See you on Monday, Hannah." Al leads me away, his whole body shaking.

"You okay?" I ask, the bubbles finally popping. Al shrugs.

"Was it wrong to tell her I'd hurt her if she said something that awful to you again?" Al asks guiltily. I blink. Honestly, I don't know. I've always thought it was wrong to threaten people, but I knew Al didn't really mean it. I mean, I know Al would come to my aide if I needed him to, but I also know that Al wouldn't actually hurt anyone. That's not his style. And thank God it's not. After what he's been through, it very well could have been.

"Yes?" I say like a question. I shake my head and say, "Well, no. Maybe. I don't know."

"I don't know, either," Al admits. "And that's scary." I nod.

"Look, we'll ask Dr. Hughes what he thinks," I say. "He'll be able to give us an answer, I think." Al shakes his head.

"I sure hope so," Al says sadly, Hannah's harsh words flying around in my head. I've been scared that I'm abusive for a while. That horrible, nauseating thought has been creeping up on me, cornering me, and telling me that I'm no better than she was. Hearing that coming from someone else makes me more scared than I ever was that it's true. I guess she does sorta have a point. I don't like the idea of Al hanging out with people I disapprove of but only 'cause I wanna keep him safe. I don't scold Al like a little kid, I just treat him like one sometimes but I only do it when he needs me to do it. But maybe all that is abusive. I really don't know anymore.

We get to Dr. Hughes' office building and walk inside. We barely talked in the car, though Dad didn't seem too worried about that. He knows how tired we both were earlier today. I didn't really wanna talk about anything with Dad, except that whole thing with Al and the dance. I figured Dad would think it was funny someone asked Al to the dance. That or Dada would get all "my baby's growing up too fast" and that's always good for a laugh. We sit down in the waiting room and grin. I think I could tell Dada about Hannah asking Al to the dance without mentioning what happened at the end of the day. I really only wanna talk to Dr. Hughes about that. I mean, Hannah told me I was abusive and laid out some pretty specific examples of things I know that I do. I just always thought I did them for good reasons. Right now though, I'm not really sure about anything. Plus, there was that whole thing with Al kinda threatening Hannah and neither of us know if it was wrong or not. I think I can tell him about the dance without mentioning any of that other shit.

"Guess what happened today, Dada," I say. Dad looks over at me and smiles.

"What, honey?" Dad asks.

"Well," I begin, Al looking over at me. "Somebody might have asked Al to the winter dance today at lunch." Dada's eyes widen and he quickly turns his head toward Al.

"Really?" Dada questions, Al's face turning bright red. He sinks in his chair and shrugs.

"Yeah…" Al replies.

"My goodness," Dad chuckles. "Isn't that something? Little Ally got asked to the dance." Al groans softly.

"Stop it, Dada," Al whines, clearly embarrassed. "I turned her down 'cause the dance is on Ed's birthday weekend so…."

"If you wanted to go to the dance, we'd celebrate Sunday instead of Saturday, you know," Dad points out.

"Well, I didn't wanna go," Al says quickly. "I mean, Hannah's nice and everything but we barely know each other. And she said I'm cute which I find suspicious. I mean, there could be ulterior motives and I'm not gonna risk it."

"Al, honey, I doubt this girl asked you because she has some plot to embarrass you or anything like that," Dada says. "But it's okay to not want to go. We do have plans."

"No we don't," I laugh. "We have a day that we're gonna have plans. I haven't picked something to do yet."

"I suppose that's true," Dad agrees with a chuckle. "Regardless, Al, I think you made a smart choice. This girl seems desperate for companionship and isn't willing to take things slow. Although, I don't doubt that she thinks you're cute." Al blushes slightly.

"Huh?" Al questions, embarrassed.

"You are a very cute boy, Al," Dada says, Al sinking into his seat.

"Ugh, stop," Al complains.

"I'm sorry, it's just…." Dada sighs and shakes his head. "Well, it's just I had always imagined that your mother would be around to fawn over you boys when you started getting asked out and she'd insist you'd go, of course, so she could take pictures and she'd cry and, oh, she'd be so happy. Whenever you two reach milestones I can't help but miss Mom. God, she'd eat this up. Al getting asked out. She'd love it." I sigh sadly – yeah, Mom would have loved this.

"Sorry, Dada," Al says softly. "It's my fault she's gone. I'm sorry."

"Don't," Dada tells him. "You didn't cause Mom's cancer, Al. I've told you before that I think she probably had it long before you were in her tummy. The doctors even said the cancer probably caused the miscarriage Mom had in between you and Brother. You did not kill Mom, Al." Al doesn't say anything, his chin quivering. I know he doesn't believe Dada. When it comes to Mom, Al doesn't ever believe Dada. Al really, truly believes that he killed Mom. He really does. Dr. Hughes has helped, but deep down Al has never gotten passed that. In his heart of hearts he really believes he killed Mama. It's really sad and I wish I could fix it for him but I can't.

"Ed, Al," Dr. Hughes says from the hallway. I look up and stand.

"C'mon, Al," I say. "Let's go." Al nods mutely and stands up. He grabs my hand and Dad says,

"I'll see you boys in an hour." I nod.

"Yup, see ya," I reply. I walk with Al to the hallway toward Dr. Hughes. We all walk to his office and sit down. I'm trying to decide how to start the conversation today. I really wanna talk about what Hannah said, but Al's guilt about Mom is weighing on my heart super bad. I don't want him to blame himself for what happened to Mom. Dad's right – Al didn't give Mama cancer. Her stupid cells that wouldn't stop dividing did that. But I also can't shake what Hannah said to me so I'm torn. I mean, I'll talk about both today but I don't know what to start off with.

"Happy first Friday of the semester, boys," Dr. Hughes says. I grin weakly and he goes on, "How'd your first week go?"

"Fine," I say softly. "Mostly boring. Syllabus week, you know?"

"I remember," Dr. Hughes laughs. "So, anything in particular you want to talk about?" I nod, Al staring at his knees.

"Hannah called me an abuser," I tell him, deciding to cut right to the chase.

"Really?" Dr. Hughes asks. I nod and he says, "Why did she say that?"

"Well, Al didn't meet me at his locker and I went to go find him 'cause I was anxious," I begin, my voice shaking. "When I found him, he was talking to Hannah. See, Hannah asked Al to winter dance and he turned her down and she was talking shit later so I guess they were smoothing things over. Anyways, I reminded him we needed to leave so wouldn't be late to therapy and Hannah totally flipped out on me. She told me that I treat Al like my kid and treat him like he's stupid. She said I don't let him make his own decisions and that he can't talk to people I don't like and that I scold him like he's a little kid. Hannah said I'm possessive and controlling and that's all abusive. It's been bothering me 'cause I've been scared that I'm abusive lately and…. I don't know."

"Okay, let's break this all down, Ed," Dr. Hughes tells me. "First, you mentioned that Al turned her down for the dance. I'd wager that part of what Hannah said stemmed from her being upset that Al didn't want to be her date for the dance."

"But all that other stuff," I say, my voice quivering, "Isn't it all kinda true? You've even said yourself that I sometimes treat Al like he's my kid. Is part of what she said true? The last thing I want is to be abusive and I'm so scared that it's true!"

"Okay, let's breathe," Dr. Hughes says gently. "In through your nose, out through your mouth." I nod and breathe with him. I calm down a bit and Dr. Hughes says, "Ed, you are not abusive. You are not controlling and possessive. You're caring and you care so much about Al's well-being. You're not controlling, Ed, you're protective. You don't treat him like a child; you treat him like he's your baby brother that you care about. Hannah doesn't understand what you've been through, nor does she understand your relationship with Al. Ed, I promise you that you do not abuse Al. She just knew that would push your buttons and upset you."

"Dr. Hughes, after she said all that I might have told her if she said something like that to Ed again, I'd hurt her," Al admits softly. "Was that wrong?"

"What do you think?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"It feels wrong," Al says. "I apologized and told her I'd never actually hurt her. I just don't like it when people say mean things about Brother."

"Al, sometimes we say things we shouldn't," Dr. Hughes tells him. "Everyone does it. As long as we admit what we said was hurtful and we apologize, it does no good to dwell on what we've said. Thinking about it doesn't erase what was said, nor does it erase what it did to the person we said it to. All we can do is apologize and move on. Since you've admitted that you shouldn't have said what you said and you've apologized, you can move on." Al nods and I smile weakly. No arguing from Al? That has to be a good sign, right?

"Thanks," Al says. "I feel better."

"That's good," Dr. Hughes replies, writing some stuff down on a clip board. "Anything else you want to talk about?"

"Um, well, Al still blames himself for Mom's death," I say, Al glaring at me.

"I see," Dr. Hughes says, looking at Al. "Anything you'd like to say, Al?"

"Not really," Al grumbles, crossing his arms. "Ed's a traitor, though."

"Traitor?" Dr. Hughes questions and I glare at Al.

"Yeah," Al says loudly. "I don't want to talk about how I killed Mom. I've told everybody that and no one ever listens to me. Ed's a traitor 'cause he brought it up."

"I'm not a traitor, Al," I argue. "I just care about you and you didn't kill Mom! We've all told you this a thousand times!"

"What do you know?!" Al yells.

"Okay, boys, calm down," Dr. Hughes instructs. We glare at each other and Dr. Hughes says, "Ed, you did kind of put Al on the spot. That's probably why he feels betrayed. Al, Ed only wants you to feel better and hates that you feel like you killed your mother when that's simply not true." Al's glare melts and he starts crying.

"Y-Yes I did!" Al sobs loudly. "M-Mom g-g-got the c-c-cancer when I-I was in h-her tummy! I k-killed Mommy!"

"Al, that's not true," Dr. Hughes says gently. "Even if she got the cancer when she was pregnant with you, you did not cause the cancer."

"Sh-She d-died 'cause of me!" Al wails and I start to rub his back.

"Oh, Al," I sigh sadly, "Al, buddy, you didn't kill Mommy. You heard Dada. Mom probably had the cancer long before you were in her tummy. The cancer probably killed that baby between you and me. That had nothing to do with you."

"Your brother's right, Al," Dr. Hughes says gently. "You had nothing to do with what happened. You are not at fault." Al keeps sobbing and I do my best to calm him down. He keeps sobbing and I say,

"Mom loved you, buddy," I tell him softly. "She loved you so, so much. I promise that you didn't do a thing wrong. You were just a baby, Al. Babies don't give people cancer. You didn't kill Mom, Al. I've never lied to you before so I'm not lying now. You didn't kill Mom." Al nods, still crying pathetically.

"Al, do you trust Ed?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Y-Yeah," Al hiccups. Dr. Hughes smiles gently at him.

"Then I think it's time for you start to forgive yourself," Dr. Hughes tells him. "You've let this eat away at you for so long, Al. You've blamed yourself for something you literally didn't have anything to do with. I think you're ready to forgive yourself and move on." Al nods and wipes his face.

"You really didn't kill Mom," I say. "I mean it." Al nods again.

"I know you mean it," Al tells me. "And I think…. I think for the first time I actually believe that it's true." I smile proudly at him and ruffle his hair.

"Good job, Al," I praise. "I'm proud of you." Al hums happily, a smile on his face. I really hope that Al believes me. I can't imagine what it must feel like to believe that you killed your mom. It has to suck big time. But I think that Al really is starting to believe us. I mean, babies don't cause cancer. I just hope that soon, Al will really believe that. I hate that he feels that way. I've always hated that he feels that way. And now, well, I think that soon Al won't feel that way anymore. That's a great thing, you know?


	42. Sleepwalking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's still baby gates up in the Elric house. Why? Read to find out!

It's dark. It's dark and I'm cold. My whole body feels heavy, like my bones are made lead. It's so dark. I don't know where I am. I'm starting to get scared. I put my hands out, trying to find a light switch or something but I can't find one. I do find a hard surface that's covered in something wet. What am I touching? What's it wet with? Where am I? My heart starts to beat frantically and I take a hesitant step forward. I slip on something wet and crash to the floor. I feel something go into my skin and I gasp loudly in pain. Glass? Did I land on glass? I try to sit back up but can't. My whole body hurts. I start hyperventilating, lying in something wet with glass everywhere. Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare that I just can't wake up from? I don't think it is 'cause in my dreams things never feel real. Like, yeah, they hurt but not like how things hurt in real life. I don't know. Dreams are weird. But I don't think I'm dreaming. I start crying a little, trying to get up off the floor, but I still can't. My shoulder hurts really bad. Like, it hurts really bad. It's throbbing and I can't get up off the floor.

"Shit," I whimper, unable to get up. I think I really hurt myself. What should I do? I lick my lips, starting to get desperate. "Dada! Dada, are you here?"

"Ed?" Dad calls back from somewhere far away. "Honey, where are you?"

"I d-don't know!" I cry. "I can't get up!"

"Oh, hold on, sweetie," Dada says. I hear footsteps and the lights flash on. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust and when they do, I get super confused. There's a shattered bowl all around me, dry cereal all over the floor. I'm lying in a puddle of something and the room smells like milk mixed with piss. Dad's feet come into view and he squats down.

"Oh, Ed, are you okay?" Dad asks anxiously.

"I can't move my left shoulder," I tell him, panting 'cause I'm anxious. "Dada, I don't know where I am. Where are we? What's going on?"

"Ed, calm down, it's okay," Dada says gently. "You're at home in the kitchen. You were sleepwalking."

"Oh," I breathe, everything starting to make sense. I've had an issue with sleepwalking since I was a little kid. Basically, I soon as I learned to walk I was climbing out of bed and wandering around the house. I've tried getting outside (I actually have gotten outside before but I never get very far), making food, cleaning which always ends up with me making a big mess, and peeing where I shouldn't like closets, toy boxes, and the middle of the floor. It really freaks Dada out and I know it freaked Mom out, too. They worried so much and were upset when Dr. Marcoh told them there's no treatment, really. I'll just "grow out of it". Bull shit. I haven't had an episode in a while, but lately when I do I get hurt. I usually don't get seriously hurt, but I have gotten hurt before. When I was five, I fell down the basement stairs and broke my arm. When I was four, my smashed my hands in a door and broke a couple fingers. When I was seven, I found the knives drawer and had to get stitches. Lately when I sleepwalk, I end up getting hurt, but never too bad. The worst thing that's happened lately is I cut my leg on a coffee table in the living room, but I didn't need stitches. But I think I might have really hurt my shoulder tonight.

"Here, baby, let me help you up," Dad says. He helps me sit up and I cry out in pain. I instinctively grab my shoulder, my arm bleeding from the glass. "Oh, honey, you're bleeding." I nod, blushing as I realize I'm probably sitting in a puddle of my own pee. Well, that's awesome. Not.

"My shoulder really hurts, Dada," I tell him.

"Ed, I think we need to go to the ER," Dad says. I shake my head.

"We can't leave Al by himself," I point out.

"Honey, your shoulder might be dislocated and I think you need stitches," Dada tells me. "You might have glass stuck in your arm, too. We need to have you checked out at least. We'll have to wake Al up and bring him with us." I nod.

"Okay, then help me up," I say. "I need to change. I'm, like, 90% sure I peed myself." Dada grimaces.

"Yeah, it looks like you might have an accident," Dad agrees. "It actually looks like you were trying to get ready for school."

"Really?" I ask, Dada helping me stand. He nods.

"There's a pair of jeans on the table, cereal and milk are everywhere, and Lamby is laying nearby," Dad says. He grabs Lamby for me and hands him to me. "I think you were probably thinking it was morning so you were trying to get ready."

"I'm sorry," I apologize. "I broke a bowl."

"Ed, I'm more worried about your left arm," Dada tells me. "There's blood everywhere. I need to get the bleeding stopped before you change."

"It's that bad?" I ask. Dada nods.

"You had a nasty fall, Ed," Dad says. "You must have fallen just right for that glass to tear you up the way it did." I nod, wincing as I feel more blood running down my arm.

"It really hurts," I say.

"I know, sweetie," Dada says, gesturing toward a chair. I sit down and Dada helps me take my shirt off. Pain shoots through my left arm, the pain almost unbearable. I start panting, Dad grimacing. "Oh, Ed, we need to go. Now."

"Now?" I question. Dad nods.

"It's bad, Ed," Dada tells me. "I need to wake Al up."

"But, I'm covered in pee, Dada," I remind him.

"We'll get you changed in the ER, but we need to go," Dada tells me. "I don't think I'll be able to get the bleeding stopped. Let me grab the dish towel." Dad hurries to the sink and grabs the dish towel. He hands it to me and says, "Gently press that on your arm. I'll grab you some clean clothes upstairs. Al and I will be down in just a second." I nod and do what Dada says.

"Oh, shit!" I cry loudly. My arm hurts like hell. I can hardly keep the towel on my arm. I know I need to, but damn! – it hurts! My hand starts to shake, blood smearing all over my right hand and my clothes as I struggle to hold the towel on my arm. God, this hurts! I start breathing heavily, shivering 'cause I'm wet and freezing but don't have a shirt on. I hear footsteps on the stairs so I know Dada and Al are close.

"Brother! Oh, my God!" Al cries, hurrying over. "I brought you a tank to wear until we get to the hospital." He looks over my arm, his eyes worried.

"It's not that bad, Al," I tell him.

"Shut up; yes, it is!" Al insists anxiously. "Is there glass in his arm?"

"I think there might be," Dad says. "That's why we need to go."

"Does Ed need an ambulance?" Al asks, obviously on the verge of freaking out.

"No, honey, but I'll need you to keep pressure on his arm," Dad instructs.

"Won't that hurt with glass in his arm?" Al questions.

"It won't feel good, but we need to do our best to slow the bleeding down at the very least," Dada explains. "C'mon, boys. We need to go." Al helps me put the tank on (God, that fucking hurt!) and we hurry out to the car. Dada backs out and I can feel my whole arm tingling. God, it hurts. Damn, it hurts!

"Oh," I moan, "God, my arm's tingly."

"Hold on sweetie," Dada says anxiously. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay." I nod, Al doing his best to gently apply pressure to my bleeding arm.

"Is tingly good?" Al asks worriedly.

"It still fucking hurts if that's what you're asking," I inform him, my chest heaving.

"Uh, kinda," Al squeaks.

"I really think it's dislocated," Dada comments.

"Did Ed fall that hard?" Al asks.

"Looks that way," Dad replies. "He was probably dead asleep when he fell, so he was like a dead weight. I imagine he tried to get up and that's why his arm got so cut up."

"Sleepwalking's the worst," Al says anxiously.

"I couldn't agree more, Al," Dad agrees.

"Speak for yourselves," I pant, Dad chuckling weakly.

"We're almost there, honey," Dad encourages. "You'll feel better soon." I nod, though I doubt that's true. Considering how slow the ER is, I'll probably bleed out long before a doctor even sees me.

We get to the ER, the nurses standing as soon as they see me. Since my arm was bleeding so heavily, I got to sit on a bed in the hallway as Dada quickly filled out all the paper work. As soon as a room opened up, a nurse escorted us in and we've been there ever since. A nurse put a bandage on my arm, like a really big one, but blood is soaking through already. The nurse said a nurse would be back soon to dig glass out of my arm and I'm not looking forward to that at all. It's one in the morning now and we're all just tiredly sitting around in the ER, waiting for that nurse to come in. My shoulder still hurts like a bitch and I'm still soaked and wet and covered in blood. I haven't really had a change to change. I'm honestly kinda scared that if I leave to change, I'll miss the nurse and she won't come back for, like, another hour. So it's been a fun night. I glance over at Dada. He's on his phone, trying to take his mind off of how nervous he is. Al's sitting beside me, holding my hand. He's super anxious just like me. I really don't like doctors. I don't like the way hospitals smell. Dad thinks it's 'cause of all the time we spend in hospitals when we were little. Mom was in and out of the hospital constantly when we were little kids. I don't know. Someone knocks on the door and Dad says,

"Come in." The nurse from before comes in and smiles. I can't remember her name. Am I a jerk 'cause I don't remember her name? I don't know. She walks over to me and looks at my arm.

"Okay," she says cheerfully, "Let me wash my hands and I'll get started."

"Um, this is gonna hurt, right?" I ask anxiously. The nurse nods.

"Sorry, buddy," she apologizes. "I need to get the glass out and me digging around in your arm won't feel good."

"What happens after you get all the glass out?" Al asks.

"He'll get his shoulder x-rayed," the nurse answers. "That won't hurt, promise." The nurse washes her hands and Dada walks over to me.

"You'll be okay," he assures me. "Al and I will hold your hands. Be a big boy, okay?" I nod, not even phased that he talked to me like I was a dumb little kid.

"Yup," I say, eyeing all the tools the nurse brought anxiously. "I am almost sixteen, you know. I'll, uh, take this like a man."

"It's okay if you cry, Brother," Al tells me. "I know I would." The nurse walks back over, gloves on her hands.

"I'm going to take the bandages off and clean the area," she explains. "It'll sting a little, okay?" I nod.

"Okay," I say, my voice shaking. Al squeezes my hand and the nurse peels off the soaked bandage off my arm.

"So, how'd this happen?" The nurse asks.

"I sleepwalk sometimes," I explain. "I don't do it as much as I did when I was little, but lately it's been ending in me getting hurt. Not this hurt, but, you know."

"This is the first ER trip we've had to take in a while," Dad says, the nurse wiping my arm with an alcohol swab. "When he was around seven he found the knives and hurt himself pretty bad. That's the last time we had to go to the ER until now."

"Where'd all the glass come from?" The nurse asks, rubbing all the cuts with something that smells terrible and stings like hell.

"I think I was trying to make a bowl of cereal," I explain, wincing as she touches my arm. "Ow," I complain.

"I know, I'm sorry," the nurse apologizes. "Okay, bud, I'm going to get started, okay?" I nod, my chin quivering. God, it hurts so bad. I'm starting to get really freaked out. My breathing picks up and Dad squeezes my hand.

"It's okay, honey," Dad encourages, "Be brave. Al and I are right here." I nod again, the nurse picking up some tweezers. Oh, God – here it comes. I close my eyes and tense up. The nurse puts the tweezers into my arm and I jerk away.

"Try to relax," the nurse instructs as I start panting.

"I'm s-sorry," I wheeze. "I'm sorry. I'll b-be good. I'm sorry."

"Calm down, Ed, it's okay," Dada says gently. "You're not in trouble. Just don't tense up so much. You're doing fine." I sniffle pathetically and nod, the nurse preparing to try again. She puts the tweezers into the same cut and I flinch again. I hear the nurse groan softly and I start whimpering.

"Sorry," I say miserably.

"Brother, it's okay," Al tells me, the nurse shaking her head. "We all know it hurts really bad and you're scared. It's okay."

"Sir, you might need to hold his arm still," the nurse tells Dada. "I need him to hold still otherwise I won't be able to get the glass out."

"I'm sorry, Dada," I say frantically. "I'm sorry!"

"Shh, it's okay," Dad says softly. "I'm going to give your arm a hug until all the glass is out, okay?" I nod, my lip trembling. I'm still breathing all funny and I'm scared. I really hate doctors. I really hate the hospital. I really hate all of this. I'm so scared and my stupid arm hurts so fucking bad. It's throbbing, stinging, and stabbing all at the same time.

"Okay, here we go," the nurse says. I feel the pressure of the tweezers and try to jerk my arm away, but Dada hugs it against his body so I can't. I start crying like a big fucking baby and the nurse finally pulls a chunk of glass out. I can feel it tear up my skin as she quickly pulls it out, my arm twitching since I can't pull away like I want to.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," Dad coos in my ear as I cry like a baby. "It's alright. You're doing fine, sweetie."

"Sh-She's hurting me!" I cry pathetically.

"Honey, calm down," Dada says gently. "It's okay. She needs to get the glass out."

"You're doing a good job, Ed," Al encourages. "You're so brave, Brother. You're doing a good job." I keep crying but do my best to tone it down a little. My stupid anxiety is trying to tell me that it's her doing this to me. I try to breathe, repeating over and over again that it's a nurse doing this to me and that the nurse is helping me. It's not mean or abuse or anything like that. She's helping me. The tweezers go back in and I scream.

"Shh, honey, I know it hurts. I know it hurts. It's okay, honey. It's okay." Dada talks all gentle to me and the nurse pulls out another piece of glass.

"I'm sorry," the nurse apologizes. "I know this hurts. If you want, we can try to numb the arm now instead of waiting until we put the stitches in. Would you like to do that?"

"Yes," Dad says. "Is it safe to numb it?"

"It's fine," the nurse answers. "I didn't realize just how sore the area is. But it's starting to bruise and it's a lot more tender than I anticipated."

"Numbing it won't affect the x-ray, right?" Dad asks as he pulls my face into his chest and pets my hair.

"No, it won't," the nurse replies. "I'll be right back. Try to keep the arm from bleeding too heavily."

"How long will it take for the arm to numb?" Dad asks.

"Not too terribly long," the nurse says. "Be right back." I whimper softly, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Sorry," I sigh, pulling away and wiping my face.

"It's okay, Ed," Dad assures me. "It must have hurt pretty badly."

"Oh, that's an understatement," I tell him. "God, what a stupid nurse! Didn't realize how tender it was. Uh, hello! My arm is literally sliced to hell and bruising and I'm bleeding all over everything, and I can't even move it. But yeah – it's not tender at all! I don't need it to be numb before she digs in my arm with a pair of tweezers to pull shards of glass out of my arm! My mistake!" Dad chuckles weakly.

"I was actually about to ask her for numbing right when she brought it up," Dad tells me. "I actually thought maybe some of what she rubbed on your skin was numbing medicine but when it never kicked in, I was really surprised that she didn't numb it."

"Brother needs morphine," Al jokes, Dada laughing.

"He'll more than likely get something very similar at the end of all this," Dad says lightly. "I'm pretty convinced that Ed dislocated his shoulder so he'll need something to kill that pain. He's gonna be in a lot of it in the next several days."

"Dada, how long are we gonna be here?" I ask with a yawn. "I'm beat."

"I know, but you still have glass in your arm, you need stitches, and you need x-rays so we'll be here a while," Dad says, the nurse coming back in.

"Sorry about that," she apologizes. "I guess I left my brain at home tonight." Al smiles at her while I just glare at her. She shakes her head and walks back over to me. She swabs my arm and sticks me with a needle. I jump a little, not expecting it, and she pulls the needle out.

"How long 'til that kicks in?" I ask.

"It won't take long, I promise," she tells me. "I really am sorry. It's been a crazy shift and it's only one in the morning. I have six hours left here. Very sorry; I should have numbed it before I started."

"I'd have to agree with that," I comment tiredly. Al yawns and puts his head on my right shoulder. Dad smiles at us and looks to the nurse.

"How will you be sure you've gotten all the glass out?" Dad asks the nurse.

"I'll get all the big pieces with the tweezers then I'll flush the wounds with a sterile, saline solution," the nurse explains, preparing to pull more glass out. My arm feels tingly, but not the way it was before. For the first time since I cut my arm up, I can't feel those stupid, deep, glass-filled cuts on my arm. My shoulder still hurts, but the cuts don't so I guess I'm ready to have a nurse dig around in my arm and pull shards of glass out of it.

"Flush it?" Al asks sleepily.

"The force of the solution should dislodge all the small pieces I can't see and carry them out of the wound," the nurse tells him.

"That's neat," Al yawns, cuddling up next to me. The nurse smiles weakly and walks over. She cleans all the cuts again and Dad takes my hand.

"This is going to feel pretty weird," the nurse tells me. "It won't hurt, but you'll feel the tweezers inside your arm and you'll feel me pull the glass out. It's going to feel extremely weird so just bear with me." I nod.

"Promise it won't hurt?" I ask like a stupid little kid.

"I promise," the nurse assures me. "I am sorry about earlier. I should have just numbed it before. This won't hurt; it'll just feel so bizarre." I nod again and watch as the tweezers get closer to my arm. I shut my eyes, Dad squeezing my hand as the nurse puts the tweezers in a cut. I can feel her dig around but it doesn't hurt. It kinda… pulls, a bit, and there's a lot of pressure as she tries to find big pieces of glass to pull out. I can feel as she finds one and I squirm a little.

"Eww," I groan.

"I told you this was weird," the nurse says, pulling the piece of glass out. She slowly finds each piece of glass, pulling them all out and I start to feel a little sick. It feels so gross. Ugh, it's nasty. Once she decides to she's gotten all the big pieces out, she gets the saline ready.

"Okay, since you're numb, this won't sting," the nurse tells me. "If it does, it'll only be a little bit so try your best to hold still, okay, buddy?"

"Yeah, okay," I say, Dada smiling at me.

"You're doing just fine, sweetie," Dada tells me. "I'm so proud of you. You're very brave."

"Thanks, Dada," I say, jumping a little when the saline starts flowing into my arm. "Ah, that's weird. Oh, that's weird." It's weird; I can't feel if it's hot or cold. It doesn't hurt and my cuts aren't stinging. But I can feel that there's liquid flowing out of my arm and dripping on to the hospital sheets.

"Hold still," the nurse instructs. "Try not to squirm." I nod, the nurse flushing all my cuts and tiny little pieces of glass flowing out with the saline.

"That's a lot of glass," Dad comments, looking at the basin where all the shards and saline are flowing into.

"My guess is when your son landing on the broken bowl, the pieces he landed on broke off inside his arm when he got cut," the nurse says. "I can't imagine being asleep and waking up to having glass in your arm like that." I blush a little.

"Yeah it…. It sucks," I tell her. Yeah, it sucks to fall down the stairs, pee all over everything, and wake up in pitch darkness and have no idea what's going on. God, sleepwalking is the worst.

"Okay," the nurse says, backing away from me. "I'll thoroughly examine your arm to make sure I got all the glass and once I'm sure, I'll stitch you up and someone will be down to take you to get x-rays."

"Let's just say we end up missing a piece and it gets stitched up," Dada says. "What would happen then?"

"Well, it would probably get infected after glass embeds in his tissue," the nurse explains. I turn green as the nurse continues, "We'd probably have to go in surgically after that to get the embedded glass out and re-stitch the wound."

"Okay," I say, after swallowing the large amount of nervous puke rising up in my chest, "Let's not do that."

"Don't worry," the nurse says cheerfully, "If I left anything behind, it'll most likely be seen on the x-ray and we can remove it tonight. Your risk of infection is super low."

"That's good to hear, right, Ed?" Dada asks as the nurse starts looking in each cut for leftover glass. I shrug with my right shoulder, Al bobbing up and down with the movement.

"Better than an infection," I say. Al yawns and snuggles up closer to me.

"Mmm," Al hums. He rubs his eyes and says, "Are we done yet?" I chuckle at him and shake my head.

"Not even close," I inform him. Al yawns again.

"Oh, that stinks," Al replies.

"Well, good news," the nurse announces. "I don't see any glass so I'm going to go ahead and stitch and bandage your wounds. When I'm done, I call a transport team to take you to radiology, okay?"

"Cool beans," I say tiredly, rubbing my eyes with my right hand. The nurse gets everything ready and soon, my arm is full of stitches. The nurse leaves and Al falls asleep next to me, Dad chatting tiredly with me to keep me awake.

It took almost an hour for that transport them to come and get me. I had to go by myself to get the x-rays. I've gotten x-rays before. When I was five and I fell down the concrete stairs that go to the basement, I got x-rays. I broke my arm that night and I've gotten x-rays after that so I wasn't too anxious about it. After I broke my arm, Dada put a baby gate at the top of the stairs so I wouldn't fall down them again. I haven't fallen down those stairs since, but I have been found bumping into the gate so it's still up 'cause Dad's terrified I'm gonna fall down them again. The technicians were super cool, too. They talked to me about school and stuff to keep me calm. 'Cause honestly, I haven't had a x-ray since I went to the ER with my leg. They x-rayed my left leg before I lost it to make sure I didn't have anything stuck in it or that nothing was broken. So, it's been almost six years and I was a little scared. But it went well and soon I was back with Dada and Al in the ER room. Al slept the rest of the time we were there. Like Dad thought, my shoulder was dislocated. A doctor put it back into place (that hurt like nothing I had ever felt before and it almost woke Al up), gave me a splint, gave me pain meds and sent me on my way. Now it's nearly four in the morning, Al's snoring in the backseat, and we're finally on our way home. Dad's got coffee in the cup holder and I rub my eyes. It's Monday morning now. I groan and turn to Dada. Is he gonna make us go to school tomorrow? I really hope not.

"Hey, Dad," I yawn.

"Yes?" Dada asks.

"Are we gonna go to school?" I ask sleepily.

"No, sir, you are not," Dad says. "I'm canceling class tomorrow. I'm beat and I know you kids are, too." I nod.

"God, thank you," I sigh. My brow furrows and I groan.

"What, honey?" Dada asks.

"I get to spend my birthday in a sling with a dislocated shoulder, cuts all over my arm, and lots and lots of pain," I complain. "That sucks."

"Hey," Dada says softly. "It's your sweet sixteen. We're gonna make Wednesday and Saturday the best birthday celebration you've ever had." I grin weakly but I shake my head.

"I'm still going to group on Wednesday," I inform him. Dada looks at me and I shake my head again. "I know it seems crazy that I'd want to go tell my story on my birthday, but this is something I have to do. I gotta see this through to the end." Dad nods.

"I understand, Ed," Dada says softly. "All that means is I'll do my best to make the rest of the day the best it can be." I smile at him.

"Thanks, Dad," I say, yawning again.

"So," Dada says, stopping at a red light. "What do you want to do Saturday?"

"Just go out to eat and see a movie with Granny and Winry," I tell him, sliding down in my seat. "Maybe invite another person or two if that's okay with you."

"Sounds like a plan," Dada replies. "Hey, we're almost home. Wake Al up, okay?" I nod and sit up right.

"You got it," I mumble, turning toward the backseat. I shake Al's knee, Al squirming and moaning at me.

"Uh, stop," Al groans.

"We're almost home, Al," I tell him. "Wake up." Al yawns and stretches, squirming even more than before. He whimpers a little and Dada asks,

"Sweetie? What's the matter?"

"I have to pee," Al says, his voice shaking. His chin quivers and he says, "Like, now."

"Honey, we'll be home soon," Dada encourages him. "You can hold it."

"What movie should we see, Al?" I ask, trying to get his mind off of having to pee. Al's had issues with this for a long time. When he says he has to go, it means he has to go as soon as possible. I think he probably has the bladder of a squirrel or something. He pees almost every hour and when he as to go he as to go. It's caused a lot of problems for him and it's gotten better recently as his anxiety and stuff has gotten better but I can tell he's really gotta go. Al shrugs at me.

"Uh, I don't know," Al replies, his voice cracking. "What's even out? Is Deadpool out yet?" I shake my head.

"That's next weekend," I tell him. "We can see Kung Fu Panda, though, or the Fifth Wave. I've heard they're both pretty good." Al nods and Dad pulls into our subdivision.

"Yeah, okay," Al whimpers. "The second Kung Fu Panda was surprisingly good so I'm sure this one is super good, too."

"It's okay, sweetie," Dada says, catching on to Al's distress. "We're literally thirty seconds from home. You can make it." Al nods again, but he's starting to cry.

"Hey, don't cry," I tell him. "Don't cry." He looks at my shoulder and quickly looks at his knees. I look at it, too, and my brow furrows. "What's the matter?"

"Are you okay?" Al asks softly. I smile fondly at him.

"Of course I am, buddy," I assure him. "It hardly even hurts now that it's in a sling and the meds they gave me are awesome."

"That's good," Al yawns, rubbing his eyes. Dada pulls into the garage and Al practically runs out of the car. "Can't talk anymore! See you in our room!" He runs into the house and Dada laughs at him.

"Silly boy," he chuckles, shaking his head.

"You know Al," I remind him. Dada helps me out of the car and he asks,

"You sure you're okay?" I nod.

"Yup," I reply. "I'm just exhausted. Spending almost six hours in the ER really took it out of me." Dad grins.

"I bet," he says, looking at the garage.

"What?" I ask.

"I was just thinking," he replies. "I might have to put different locks on the garage door."

"Why?" I question.

"You're going to get your permit soon," Dada begins. "I don't want to risk you sleepwalking, trying to drive, and getting yourself seriously hurt or killed." I blink; I hadn't thought of that before. I mean, I've tried to do lots of things while sleepwalking. I never even thought about me trying to drive while sleepwalking. I could drive into the house or get lost, or crash into a tree. Yeah, maybe locks on the garage are a great idea.

"Oh, yeah, that could be a good idea," I agree with a yawn. Dada chuckles and ruffles my hair.

"Bed, kiddo," he instructs, kissing my forehead. "I need to check on Al and wish him a goodnight."

"Okay," I say. I kiss him back and say, "G'night, Dada. Love you."

"Love you, too, Ed," Dada replies, walking off toward the bathroom. I head up the stairs, through my dirty, blood, pee-soaked pajamas in the laundry chute, pee, and crawl into bed. I sigh happily, the bed shifting as someone joins me.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yup," Al says sleepily. He curls up next to me and he sighs happily. I pull him into my side and say,

"Goodnight, Ally," I say tiredly, "Love you." Al doesn't reply because he's already asleep, snoring happily into my side. I kiss his hair and shut my eyes, my shoulder barely hurting at all as I fall asleep.


	43. 11:59 PM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before something exciting always seems to go on forever, doesn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this chapter deals with self harm. Just a head's up.

Monday was a super lazy day. Al and Dada and I spent all day together at home, recovering from our all-night ER trip by watching movies. We ordered pizza for dinner and I can't remember the last time me and Al and Dada spend all day together like that. Dad works – a lot. He's always teaching a J-term class or a summer class or is doing research so he never really gets to spend time with us. I really like it when Dada gets to spend time with us. I know my dad is awkward and quiet and "reserved", but he's also kinda funny in the dad sort of way and he can be pretty cool. Anyway, Tuesday was slow since me and Al had to go to school. After school, Al volunteered all by himself at the animal shelter for the first time and even though he was anxious about it, he said he had fun with Mei and that's what mattered. We ate dinner with Granny and Winry, did some homework, and went to bed right on time. Now Al's curled up next to me, sleeping happily beside to me. I sigh, anxiety about tomorrow beginning to rise up. It's my birthday tomorrow. I'll be sixteen. I don't have my permit (I'm not even close to being ready), I sleep with a stupid stuffed lamb, I hold my brother's hand all the time, and I still wet the bed. On top of all that shit, I'm going to a group therapy session to spill my guts to a bunch of people I don't even like. Happy birthday to me, I guess.

I groan and sit up, putting my leg on and getting up out of bed quietly so I don't wake up Al. I wonder if Dada is still up. I walk into the hallway and peer down the staircase. It looks like the lights are all off so I walk toward Dada's room. I knock and I can hear Dad tell me it's okay to come in. I walk into his room and Dad lowers the book he's reading. He smiles at me and pats the bed next to him. I walk over and sit down next to him, my head resting on his arm. He puts his arm around me and I sigh, Dada kissing my hair.

"Can't sleep?" Dada asks me. I nod.

"You could say that," I answer tiredly. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, just a boring parenting book," Dada tells me. "It's called: Guiding Them Through Life: Parenting your Pre-Teen, Teenage, and College-Age Child." I chuckle at him.

"Sounds thrilling," I say sarcastically. Dada laughs at me.

"Oh, it is," Dada replies with a grin. "Basically, every parenting book I've ever read if it's written by a professional is drier than sand and the ones written by celebrities are fun to read. So, this," Dad says, waving the book around, "is terrible." I laugh.

"Then just don't read it," I suggest.

"Oh, I'm almost finished with the teenage section," Dad chuckles. "Better to see things through to the end than give up, right?" I nod.

"I guess," I say softly.

"So," Dada begins, setting the book down on his nightstand, "What's bothering you?"

"It's my birthday tomorrow and I'm anxious about it," I admit. "I don't feel like I'm turning sixteen. I don't really know how I'm feeling. It's like…. I feel so…. I don't know."

"You know something?" Dad asks. I look at him and he smiles at me. "I don't feel like you're turning sixteen, either. Every time I think about the fact that you've been physically present in my life for sixteen years, my heart beats strangely. It feels like there's no way you've been around that long. I can't believe that I've had the privilege of holding you, caring for you, making you laugh for sixteen years. I also can't believe that you've made me laugh, done silly little things to cheer me up, and grown up to be such a remarkable young man in just sixteen years. It's a paradigm, you know? Sometimes it feels like I've had kids my whole life but on the days before you get a little older, it feels like I've only known you for a very short time."

"Remarkable young man," I imitate, teasing him. Dad shakes his head and chuckles softly.

"I know, it's cheesy," Dada laughs. "But it's how I feel. You're a good kid, Ed. I'm very proud of who you are and who you'll become as you get older." I snuggle closer to him, Dad's cologne filling my brain and calming me down.

"I love you, Dada," I say, Dad kissing my hair.

"I love you, too," he replies.

"Dad?" I ask quietly.

"What?"

"If Mom were here… how do you think she'd feel about me turning sixteen?" I ask, trying not to cry. It's hard not to think about Mom on birthdays. Mama prided herself on making birthdays as special as she could. Sure, she was good at throwing parties, but that's not what I'm talking about. Mom made sure the actual day was as special as possible. She'd treat me like I was the most special, most important person on the planet on my birthday. All day long it was what I wanted to eat, what I wanted to play, and what I wanted to eat. She always made the cake from scratch and made sure that if it was my birthday, that I felt loved. She did the same for Al and even Dada. God, Mom loved birthdays. But I actually think what she really loved was us. Either way, it's hard not to think about her each birthday I have.

"Well," Dada begins quietly, "I guess she'd be happy, but probably a little sad, too. You were her baby, you know. I remember how determined she was each year to make yours and Al's birthdays special but how sad she was when the day finally came. 'They're so big now! Where'd the time go?' That's always what Mom would say. But Trish…. I don't think she was ever really sad, though. I think she was just mourning the stage of life you were in while being so excited for what was to come."

"Bet she didn't miss changing diapers," I joke, trying to lighten the mood. Dad laughs.

"Well, not the gross part, but there's something about it that bonds you with your baby," Dada tells me. I give him a look and he says, "Honestly, there is. Doctors say that the best moments to bond with your baby are feeding and changing. There's a closeness during those times that you'll treasure forever, something that you'll never forget. I think she probably missed that part of it."

"That's weird," I comment.

"I know," Dad says. He pats my thigh and says, "Hold on. I want to look at something with you." My brow furrows and Dada gets out of bed. He walks over to his closet and pulls out what looks like a photo album. He walks back over and gets in bed, the book opening on his lap.

"My baby book?" I question. He nods.

"I guess I might be missing a little blond boy tonight the way Mom might have," Dad tells me. "When you have kids, Ed, you'll understand what it feels like to be so proud and happy that your child is growing up while mourning the fact they aren't those little babies you had to care for so long ago." I watch as he turns to the first page. There's a letter on the page that's never been there before and Dada begins to read:

"My dear Edward,

Someday you'll probably look at this book with myself and/or your dad and wonder why in the world someone would be so obsessed with preserving such a short section of your life forever. Well, I know it seems strange, but those days feel like many years to me and I felt like it was important to take as many pictures of your silliness, your gentleness, and your intelligence so I could look back on where you came from and be even more proud of where you end up. I've known for a long time I wanted children. But meeting you, actually seeing your little face day after day, getting to be with you and raise you has been the biggest blessing and honor I've ever had. I guess I made a baby book for you, Ed, because I want you to one day look back on it and see just how much me and Dada love you. You are my crowning achievement, my pride and joy, the absolute love of my life. You bring me so much joy and as you grow older, I love that we can look back at a chapter in your life that your dad and I enjoyed so much.

Through this book you can see our family grow as Al joined it, all the smiles you've had, all the birthdays and milestones. While planning ahead is important, remembering the past is, too. It's always good to reminisce with the people you love, remembering where you've been so you stay strong on the path of where you're going. There will come a day, Ed, where I won't be with you anymore. It might be a year from now if the cancer kills me, or it could be thirty years from now when I'm a shriveled old lady. Regardless of how I die and when, I wanted to leave a piece of me behind so you could always be comforted by it. This book is a piece of my heart given to you. I poured myself into making it so you'd never feel lonely. Whenever you look at this book, Ed, seeing all the happy faces and memories, I am with you. I love you so much, Little Man.

Love,

Mama"

I blink, tears trying to force their way out of my eyes as Dada flips to the next page. "I've… I've never read that before," I tell him. Dad smiles at me.

"Well, that's because that letter's never been in the book before," Dad replies. I shoot him a look and he says, "I put it in tonight per your mom's request. She wrote those after the cancer came back and told me to put it inside each of your baby books on your sixteenth birthdays. Mom also wrote letters for me to give to you when you both turn eighteen, but that's a while away yet." I grin weekly and cuddle up next to him. I point to a picture of me and Mom when I was a baby and say,

"I like this one." Dad nods and points to one of me walking around half-naked and says,

"Well, I think this one's pretty cute." I laugh lightly and Dada kisses my hair. "Happy birthday, sweet heart."

"Thanks," I reply, Al's bedwetting alarm going off. I don't know if it just started or if I'm just now hearing it. Oh, well. Guess I'll find out in a minute. I shake my head and say, "Oh, Al. Poor kid." Dad sighs and nods.

"Meet in your room?" Dada asks. I nod.

"Yup," I say, getting up. I walk to my room, Picard meowing loudly at me as I enter.

"Shut it," I instruct, the alarm off now. I turn the light on, my brow furrowing when I see Al's nowhere to be found. "Al? Al? Where are you?" I look around a little and it becomes clear that Al's not in here. Well, it seems like I have an answer to whether or not the alarm just stared a couple minutes ago. It didn't otherwise Al'd be in here.

"Where's Al?" Dada asks from my doorway. I shrug.

"Beats me," I reply. "Maybe he's going pee?" That would be, like, super exciting. I mean, I know the alarms really don't train kids to get up and go pee all on their own right away, but I know it would make Al feel better if maybe he heard the alarm and got up to pee all by himself. He's been kinda discouraged recently 'cause the alarms haven't really seemed to help him stay dry. He's always in the middle of a nightmare or something when they go off. Maybe if he got up, even if he doesn't again for a while, he'd feel better. I don't know.

"I'll go look in the bathroom," Dada says, "Why don't you go make sure he's not scared in a closet somewhere?" I nod and hurry out of the room. I look up and down the hallway, trying to listen for any sounds of distress. I can't hear anything so I hurry to the hall closet. I press my ear up to it but I don't hear anything. Picard meows from behind me and I watch as he hurries toward the bathroom door. Dada's standing at it and I hurry over. The cat sniffs Dada's leg before sniffing a puddle on the ground. My brow furrows and I avoid stepping in it so my socks don't get wet. I stand next to Dad, Dad knocking softly on the door.

"Al, honey?" He asks. "Are you in here?" I don't hear anything, Dada licking his lips anxiously. "Al? Please say something."

"Ally?" I ask. "You're really starting to freak me out." I don't like that Al's not answering. It makes me scared that maybe Al's not in the bathroom at all. Picard meows anxiously at the door and I can faintly hear someone whimper.

"Al? Are you okay?" Dad asks worriedly. I can hear panting from behind the door, Picard scratching at the door anxiously.

"Go away," Al says from behind the door.

"Al, what's the matter?" I ask worriedly. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"I said go away!" Al shouts, Dada shaking his head. He turns to me and says,

"What's gotten into him?" I shrug.

"He probably had a bad dream or something," I reply.

"I don't think so," Dad says. "Al never acts like this after a nightmare." I turn back toward the door and knock.

"Al, c'mon buddy," I say, "What's the matter? You can tell me." I can hear Al crying from behind the door.

"Y-You'll get m-mad at me," Al cries pathetically.

"No, we won't, sweetie," Dada says. "It's okay."

"I-I…." Al trails off, and I decide to guess.

"Okay, I have an idea of what happened," I say, Dad looking at me. "The alarm woke you up and you needed to pee really bad, but you didn't make it. Am I close?" I can hear him cry louder and I guess that I'm probably right.

"Al, honey, it's okay," Dada says gently. "Come out, Al. You don't have to hide, it's okay."

"I cut," Al admits suddenly, Dada and I exchanging worried glances.

"What?!" I cry. "When?!"

"Now," Al wails loudly.

"Oh, honey," Dad says, his voice shaking like he's gonna cry. "Al, let me in. Let me help."

"No! Go away!" Al yells, obviously crying. "I'll do it again! Leave me alone!"

"Al, don't!" I beg, "Please don't cut again! Just let us help you!"

"Go away!" Al yells again. "Leave me alone!"

"Alphonse, honey, please," Dada practically begs. "Please. Just let me in. I only want to help." I can hear Al crying loudly from behind the door and I'm not sure what in the world Al's gonna do.

"I'm s-sorry," Al cries pathetically. "I'm so sorry!"

"Shh, sweetie, it's okay," Dad says softly. "Daddy's right here, baby. I'm right here." I hear the door unlock and it opens. Al hurries over to Dada and hugs him, crying into Dad's chest. Dada pets his hair, Al sobbing loudly. He's shaking really bad and I can tell he's having a hard time staying on his feet.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," Al cries.

"Shh, it's okay," Dad comforts gently. "Daddy's here, Al. Daddy's got you." I stand awkwardly nearby, watching this whole scene play out. I don't think there's anything I can do to help. I wish there was, but there's not. Dad's comforting Al and making him feel better. Even though that's my job, Dada's allowed to do it sometimes. I just wish comforting Al could just be my job. I cross my arms, trying my best not to pout.

"Ed, why don't you go grab Al some clean pajamas and get the first aid kit?" Dad suggests. "Meet in my room, okay?" I smile, excited that Dada gave me a way to help. I nod eagerly and say,  
"Yeah! Okay!" I say, hurrying to my room. I quickly pick out new pajamas for Al and run back to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. Dada and Al are gone by the time I get back. I walk into the bathroom, gasping when I see just how bad Al cut. No, Al's not here and I haven't seen his arms, but I do see the pair of scissors he was using to hurt himself. There's blood on the blade and on the counter and in the sink.

"Oh, God," I gag, feeling a little sick. Blood doesn't make me queasy. It never really has. No, I feel sick because Al hurt himself. He hurt himself so much that there's blood all over the bathroom counter and in the sink. I'm having a hard time digesting the fact that Al's cutting at all. I know he's been doing it for a while, but I didn't know until last Friday and apparently Dada and I haven't done a good enough job hiding razors and things. I quickly find the first aid kit, grab the scissors to give to Dada, and leave the room so I don't have to look at all the blood. I swallow the barf in my throat and walk to Dad's room. I can hear Al crying from the hallway and I quickly walk inside.

"Ed? Are you okay?" Dada asks me. "You're pale." I shake my head and hand him the first aid kit and the bloody scissors.

"I'm not okay," I answer him. "I…. There's…. Al got himself good, Dada, and it makes me queasy." Dad nods.

"I know, honey," he replies. "I understand how that feels." Yeah, I know he does. Two years ago, it was me cutting and the severity of that made Dad queasy. Now it's Al doing it and it's terrible. I finally can understand how Dada felt when it was me and it sucks. It sucks a lot. I look over at Al. He's sitting on Dad's bed, crying still. His sleeves are soaked with blood and my chin quivers.

"Oh, Al," I whimper. I've never been on this end of it before. I've been on Al's end and that sucks, but now I'm on the other side and it sucks. It almost sucks more than when I was the one cutting. Dad walks over and gently says,

"Alphie, take your shirt off for me." I snort softly. I haven't heard that nickname in a while. When I was a baby, I couldn't say Al's name. I mostly called him Al since that was easy for me to say, but sometimes I attempted to say his full name. Whenever I did, it always came out as either Ally or Alphie. When Al was little, we'd call him Alphie a lot but as he grew up, we just sorta stopped doing it. There was a time when she made fun of that nickname while Dada was on a trip. When he got back, Dada called him Alphie and Al got mad so we stopped using it. But after she got arrested, whenever Al was panicky or upset or scared, Dada would sometimes call him Alphie to calm him down. Guess Dada thinks Al needs to feel safe and special right now. I don't know.

"Okay," Al whimpers. He takes his shirt of and my eyes widen. Holy shit. It's awful. It's really awful. There's new cuts of all shapes and sizes on both arms. Some are horizontal, some are vertical. There's shallow ones, deeper ones, blood everywhere. I shake my head, trying not to just start crying. My little brother did that to himself. He hates himself so much that he feels like he has to do this to himself so he can feel better. Dada sits down next to him and takes Al's hand in his own.

"I have to clean your arm, okay?" Dada says gently. "Then I'll put some band-aids on and it'll be all better, okay?" Al nods, his lip trembling as he continues to cry.

"Hey, Alphie," I say, sitting on the other side of him. I take his other hand and squeeze it. "It'll be okay."

"Are you mad?" Al asks softly, his voice shaking since he's still crying. I shake my head.

"No," I answer. "I'm sad, buddy. I hate that you hurt yourself. It kills me. And I swear that I'm gonna help you get passed it."

"I'm sorry," Al cries. "It's your birthday and I've already messed it all up!" I shake my head.

"Let's pretend it's still Tuesday," I tell him. Al's brow furrows and I smile at him. "It's 11:59 until you're all cleaned up and back in bed. It's not my birthday, not yet." Al smiles weakly, Dada chuckling lightly.

"Oh, Ed," he muses, cleaning Al's arms. "You really know how to take care of your baby brother." Al rests his head on my shoulder and I kiss his hair.

"I love you, kiddo," I tell him softly. "No matter what happens or what you do, I'll always love you."

"I love you, too," Al whimpers. "I really didn't wanna, you know. I just felt so terrible and gross."

"Ally, you had an accident, that's all," I assure him. "It's no reason to hurt yourself. It's just pee, Brother." Al whimpers again.

"I was bad," he insists.

"No, you weren't," I say. "It was an accident. You're not a bad boy, Al. You're not."

"Ed's right, sweetie," Dada agrees. "You're not a bad boy. You're a good boy. I daresay one of the best boys I've ever met." Al giggles softly and I squeeze his hand again.

"You remember the lion song, Al?" I ask him. He nods.

"Whenever I couldn't sleep, Mom or you or Dada would play it for me," Al answers.

"There," Dada says. "All better. Go get cleaned up, honey."

"Can I…. Can I sleep with you, Daddy?" Al asks. Dada nods and kisses his hair.

"Of course, baby," Dada says. "You both can. Go change, honey. I'll be right here waiting for you." Al nods and gets up, still holding my hand. I walk with him to the bathroom and let go so I don't have to look at the blood again. I took the scissors away and Dada said he was going to clean it all up later. Al gets changed and tries going pee before we both walk back to Dad's room together. We crawl into bed, Dad hugging us both.

"Listen," Dad says softly. I can faintly hear The Lion Sleeps Tonight playing nearby, Dad's phone sitting on top of that boring parenting book. Al sighs contently and snuggles closer to Dada.

"I'm sorry, Dada," Al whispers tiredly. "I'm really trying not to cut. I really am." Dada nods and kisses his hair.

"I know, honey," Dada says. "I know. Go to sleep, Al." Al nods and cuddles even closer. I snuggle up next to him and whisper,

"G'night, Alphie. Love you."

"Happy birthday, Brother," Al whispers back. "Love you, too."


	44. Ed's Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Sixteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up; there's talk of abuse and self-harm in this chapter.

Well, I guess it's officially my birthday. Last night doesn't count 'cause if it did, Al would feel like he messed it all up for me and I'm not gonna let him feel that way. But it's my birthday. I'm sixteen. I sigh, picking at my cereal. I don't feel sixteen. Hell, I don't think I ever felt fifteen. I don't know how sixteen is supposed to feel. I don't think anyone really knows, honestly. I've found that grown-ups tend to clump stuff together when they're talking about the past. Like, Dada will talk generally about being in elementary school and will tell us stories about it, but he can't remember how old he was when certain things happened. So, when I asked him what it felt like to be sixteen, he told me he didn't know. He remembered how it felt to be a teenager, but couldn't separate thirteen from eighteen. It all felt the same. At least, it all feels the same now. I guess feeling sixteen is different for everybody. I mean, most sixteen-year-olds can drive, play sports, and don't have any of the issues I have and have had for years. For them, being sixteen means going to parties and staying up late. For me, well, I guess it's the same as fifteen which sucked. At least, it's the same right now. I've only been sixteen for a couple hours. It's hard to tell when sixteen will start being different from fifteen.

As we all eat, Dada comes up with an itinerary for today. Even though we're celebrating for real on Saturday, today's my actual birthday and since I'm still going to group after school, Dada's working hard to make today awesome. After group, we're gonna eat dinner at my place of choice (or get take-out from my choice if Al feels like he can't go into a restaurant), then we'll head home so I can open presents from Dada and eat cake. Yeah; he got me a cake. That's pretty cool. I haven't seen it yet so I guess Dad's excited to give it to me. I don't know. I can tell he's really trying to make this my best birthday yet and honestly, I really appreciate it. Even though I pretended everything that happened last night happened prior to midnight, the reality is it didn't and it sucked. It honestly did kinda kill my mood but I can't let Al know that. He already feels guilty enough that it happened at all. I mean, I know it's my birthday and I could probably be a little selfish if I wanted to, but when it comes to Al I can't. Being selfish means hurting him and I can't do that. Besides, I want Al to be happy so the three of us can enjoy my sweet sixteen as a family. I can't upset Al if I want that to happen. So, my grumpy mood will stay hidden so the day can be just as awesome as Dada wants it to be.

All my friends make a big deal out of me when I see them after Dada drops us off at school. They all wish me a happy birthday and treat me super special. I know it's baby-ish, but it feels good. I like feeling special. Everyone's fawning over me and making sure I'm happy and I like it. I like it a lot. We talk a little about Saturday and it turns out pretty much everybody's going to the dance. That's okay, though, 'cause it wasn't like I was gonna throw a party or anything. I hate parties and I was never really interested in throwing one. I mean, I know it's my sixteenth birthday but still. I didn't want a party. Everyone but Winry is planning on going to the dance so I guess it'll just be Granny and Winry joining me, Dada, and Al on Saturday. Fine by me. Didn't want to make a big deal out of it anyway. We all part for class and soon, the school day's over. School's still pretty slow since it's our first full week back from Christmas break so it's easier for me to pay attention. Doesn't make it any less boring, though.

Dada drops me and Al off at the building. I kinda wanted him to stay today but I didn't say anything. Dad has lab prep with Lucy again. It's his job to be there so I didn't mention that I wanted him to stay. I know it's my birthday and I could have used that as a reason for him to stay, but I didn't. Al and I walk in, that Hannah girl waving at us instantly. Al waves back and I try my best not to roll my eyes. God – I kinda forgot she'd be here. Sitting next to her is someone I've never seen before but I honestly don't give a shit who that other girl is. New people join the group all the time. It's no big deal. Hannah waves us over and I groan softly. Great. Of course she wants to talk to us. Al and I walk over and I do my best to hide my distain for the both of them.

"What's up?" Al asks, tugging a little at his sleeves. He's still really embarrassed and upset about last night. He really doesn't want anyone to see what happened. He's done well to hide it but I can tell he's anxious.

"I want you to meet my friend, Nicole," Hannah announces with a smile. "She and I were friends when we were little." Al waves and I cross my arms.

"Hi," Al greets nervously.

"Why's she here?" I ask shortly.

"Not really your business, Ed," Hannah informs me shortly. I glare at her.

"Kinda is," I retort. "If she's not part of the group, she can't be here."

"I'm joining, thank you very much," Nicole snaps. "You're rude."

"Oh, my bad," I sarcastically apologize. "I forgot to turn on my mind-reading powers this morning." Nicole glares at me and Al chuckles nervously.

"Uh, I'm Al," Al introduces awkwardly. "Sorry about Ed. He's not trying to be mean, promise." Actually, I am. Not that I'm gonna tell Al that.

"So, you're brothers?" Nicole asks. Al nods.

"Ed's my big brother," Al tells her. "We're not that far apart, though."

"Speaking of," I say, "Today's my birthday."

"Oh, that's right," Hannah says. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," I say blandly. "It's my sweet sixteen so it's kind of a big deal."

"How old are you, Al?" Nicole asks. "I'd guess about twelve just by looking at you. Thought that's how old your rude brother was."

"Um, fourteen," Al answers, his voice shaking. "And Ed's not rude. Brother just has to make sure our secrets stay safe, that's all. Do you go to Resembool Community High School?" Nicole shakes her head and I sigh in relief. Thank God she doesn't. This girl seems worse than Hannah. I actually think that Nicole would talk if she did go to our school.

"I'm from Morton," Nicole answers. "It takes thirty minutes to get here."

"Oh," Al squeaks. "Well, um, hope you like group." I take Al's hand and Nicole snickers. I glare at her, Al trembling violently.

"Somethin' funny?" I demand. Nicole nods.

"You guys are holding hands," she points out. "That's hilarious." I roll my eyes.

"Oh, yeah, it's so funny," I say, my voice shaking 'cause I'm angry. "You see, it's funny 'cause years of abuse made me and Al so anxious that sometimes the only way we can function is if we're holding hands. Yup, it's hilarious." Nicole blinks.

"Abuse?" She questions like she's never heard of it before. I nod.

"You heard me," I tell her. "C'mon, Ally. Let's sit down before Nicole insults us even more."

"What kind of abuse?" Nicole asks. I freeze up, the bubbles rising in my throat. I shake my head and lick my lips, unable to form a sentence. "What? Not so chatty now?"

"Okay, Nicole," Hannah interjects. "Leave them alone. You had your laugh." Al sniffles loudly, tears rolling down his cheeks. I squeeze Al's hand, unable to reply. Nicole's a terrible person so far. I can't believe she's acting like this toward us. God, what did we ever do to her?! My chin quivers, my thoughts going to a very dark place. I shake my head; it's my birthday. I'm gonna tell my story and then have fun with Al and Dada. I don't need to focus on that shit right now. The girls are staring and I shake my head again.

"You'll find out," I say softly, finally able to say something. I guide Al to some chairs and we sit. We're not sitting super close to Hannah 'cause I want her to know that her friend is terrible. I want nothing to do with either of them, honestly, but Hannah I can handle in small doses. But Nicole? I can't fucking stand her. There's something so judgmental and mean-spirited about her. I don't know. All I know is that I don't like her.

Me and Al talk with our eyes as Dr. Hughes slowly reigns in the group. After what happened with Hannah and Nicole, neither of us had very much to say. Dr. Hughes did come over to chat before group started, but we weren't very chatty. Part of me wanted to tell him what happened with Nicole, but I chickened out. I didn't want her to see me as a snitch or something. 'Cause I'm not a snitch. I've never really been. Unless someone is doing something really wrong – like cheating or stealing or something like that – I honestly don't care what people do. I think people should be allowed to just live their own lives. So unless they're doing something morally repugnant, there's no reason to interfere, I think. And even then there are instances where we should just let people do what they're gonna do, even if it's horrible or whatever. So I didn't tell Dr. Hughes what happened, even though I really wanted to. If Nicole wants to be a terrible person to people she's never even met before, fine. That's her problem. Dr. Hughes finally begins group and turns to Nicole.

"We have a new member joining us today," he says. "Would you like to introduce yourself?" Nicole nods and stands up.

"I'm Nicole," she says loudly. "I'm from Morton. I've had depression and anxiety for a long time and it stems from childhood trauma. I love bright green, giraffes, and long hugs." Dr. Hughes smiles and nods while I cross my arms and roll my eyes. So she's one of those people. You know, the type of person who wants everyone to know just how friggin' special and random they are by acting all socially awkward all the time. Of course she loves bright green and she just has to tell all of us that like we care. Barf.

"Thank you," Dr. Hughes says. He then turns to me and asks, "Want to start us off, Ed?" I nod and set my watch. I take a deep breath and start talking;

"Vanessa never really liked taking me or Al to the doctor, even when Dada was home. She couldn't be bothered by it. It was a waste of her time. Why spend all that time and money taking us to the doctor when she couldn't stand either one of us? When we were little, she told Dad that our primary doctor, Dr. Marcoh, was charging out the nose for copays and that she had found us a cheaper pediatrician to see. Those were both lies. Nothing about Dr. Marcoh's office had changed and she sure as hell didn't find us a new doctor. But Dad believed her. Vanessa was really good at covering her tracks and taking Dr. Marcoh out the equation, the doctor we had both seen our whole lives and would be able to tell something was wrong, was a logical step. Vanessa wanted to be able to hit us as hard and as often as she pleased, wanted to yell at us and treat us like shit all she wanted and never get caught. And it was slow, painstaking work for her to remove every adult who could actually help from the equation while lying to Dada about it.

"When me and Al would get sick, Vanessa would wait until the absolute last minute to do much of anything about it, even if Dada was home. If Dad was home, she'd say we were just 'faking' so we didn't have to go to school and he bought it. But if we kept getting sicker or we never got any better, Dada would insist we see the doctor. Since Vanessa lied about getting us a new doctor, she'd always smile sweetly and tell Dada that she'd take care of everything. All that meant was taking us to an urgent care or an ER so we'd get some medicine and shut up. If Dad wasn't home, well, we were lucky if we even got to the ER. Most of the time we'd just have to tough it out, regardless of how sick we were or how miserable we might have been. That stuff didn't matter to Vanessa and neither did we.

"A month or so after we began learning martial arts with Teacher, Al began complaining of tummy aches, nausea, and all the other not fun stuff that came with stomach bugs. They'd come and go, but he said they hurt really bad. Dad, of course, wasn't home so Vanessa would hit him whenever he'd bring it up and Al would just have to deal with the pain. For about a week or so, he did just that. There was one morning, though, were Al woke up with a fever. He felt really hot so I told Vanessa that I thought something was wrong. That, of course, got me in trouble but she couldn't hit me like she wanted. Dad was going to be home in a couple days and she couldn't risk getting too rough. I was starting to get scared, though, 'cause Al hadn't gotten out of bed yet. Vanessa left for work that day, warning us to not get into trouble. If I called Granny or Dada and told them Al was sick, she'd find out and I'd get in so much trouble.

"Once Vanessa was gone, I did my best to look after Al. He was achy and miserable, throwing up constantly. He couldn't keep anything down, not even water. He got to the point where he was dry heaving and was in a lot of pain. The pain in his tummy was getting worse and worse, almost to the point where he was screaming in agony. I was only nine, so I was starting to get scared. He was sick; really, really sick and there was no one in my life who could help me. But I was scared. I told Al to lie still in his bed and I hurried down the stairs. I knew calling someone for help was a bad idea, but I didn't know what else to do. I was scared and I was desperate. Someone had to help. They just had to. I ran to the phone, my hands shaking. I was heaving as I considered backing out. The risk was just too great. If I called a grown-up, Vanessa would find out and she would get mad. Once she got mad, well, things wouldn't be too good for me or Al for that matter. Al started screaming from upstairs so I shook my head. No, I had to call. For Al's sake. I quickly dialed a number and waited, my heart feeling like it was gonna explode.

"'Hello?'

'Teacher!' I cried into the phone. 'Teacher, you have to help!'

'Ed?' She questioned. 'What's wrong?' I took a deep, shaky breath, doing my best not to start crying.

'Al's sick,' I began, my voice shaking. 'He's throwing up and his tummy hurts really bad. My dad's not home a-an' my step-mom won't take him to the doctor. I d-don't know wh-what to do!'

'Calm down, Ed,' Teacher instructed. 'Is Al running a fever?'

'It was real high,' I answered, Al still screaming in the background. I'm sure Teacher could hear it 'cause she said,

'I'll be at your house in ten minutes.'

'Wh-What should I do 'til then?' I asked.

'Put a cool towel on Al's forehead,' Teacher told me. 'Keep him comfortable. I'll be there soon.' I nodded.

'O-Okay,' I replied. She hung up and I sprinted upstairs to the bathroom. I wet a towel down and hurried into our room. Al was panting, unable to scream anymore. He was crying and I thought I could smell pee.

'Alphie,' I addressed gently. 'Did you wet the bed?' He nodded, his face stuck in a grimace. I put the towel on his forehead and said, 'I'll change you, okay? Teacher's gonna be here soon to take care of you. It's gonna be okay.' He whimpered in response, heaving as he tried throwing up again. He coughed violently, unable to puke up more than some disgusting, mostly clear mucous. What wasn't clear, though, was tinted red. My eyes widened, Al falling back on his pillow after his failed barfing attempt. Blood. It was blood.

'Oh, no,' I whimpered. That couldn't be good. Al screamed again, the pain intensifying. I shook my head. Teacher would be here soon. She would know what to do. All I needed to worry about was changing Al out of his wet clothes so he wasn't cold. I hurried to his dresser and picked out the warmest pajamas he owned. He had this pair of fleece, footie pajamas that had cats all over them. I figured he needed to stay warm. I grabbed a t-shirt for him to wear underneath it so if he had to go to the bathroom he wasn't sitting on the toilet half-naked. I also decided that Al needed to wear one of the Pull-Ups Vanessa was forcing him to wear to bed just in case he didn't make it to the bathroom. Once I collected everything I hurried back to Al. He was whimpering pathetically, his eyes only half open. He tiredly looked over at me, still crying.

'I wan' Daddy,' he cried softly. I nodded. Yeah; I wanted him, too. I wanted Dada to comfort Al, carry him close, and take him to the doctor so he could get better. I wanted Dada to reassure me that Al was gonna be okay. I wanted Dada, too.

'Ally, I'm gonna help you change clothes, okay?' I told him gently. 'When you're all dry, you can lay in my bed until Teacher comes.' Al nodded, his lip trembling.

'M-My t-t-tummy hurts, B-Brother,' he whimpered.

'I know,' I replied, not sure what else I could say.

'W-Will you st-stay with me 'til T-Teacher g-gets here?' Al asked me. I nodded.

'Yeah,' I told him. 'Promise.'

Helping Al get dressed was hard. No matter which direction or how gently I moved him, it hurt him. He cried the entire time and I felt so freaking guilty. I knew I had to change him. I couldn't let him stay in his barf covered, pee soaked clothes. That couldn't be good for him. But I felt so bad that nothing I did made him feel any better. After he was dressed, I carried him on my back to my bed. I tucked him in and laid down next to him. We laid like that for a minute before I decided that I needed to get Al something to puke in. I also figured that Al needed something to drink. I promised him I'd be right back and hurried down the stairs. We had some Sprite in the fridge so I grabbed a can. Dada would sometimes give us Sprite when our stomachs were upset. After I found a straw, I grabbed a big, plastic mixing bowl and ran back upstairs. I got back to our room, poor Al bawling like a baby. I sat the bowl on his lap and helped him drink some Sprite. It wasn't too much longer until the doorbell rang. I sprinted back down the stairs, opened the front door and breathlessly said,

'Al puked up some blood!' Teacher patted my head and walked inside.

'Where is he?' She asked.

'Upstairs,' I answered, following her. 'He had an accident in his bed so I helped him change and he's in my bed now. I gave him something to throw up in.'

'Good job,' she praised, walking up the stairs. 'Has he been having any diarrhea?' I nodded.

'He was until yesterday,' I began, 'But he stopped having it. I think it's 'cause he's not eating. He's only drinking and he usually throws that up, too.'

'You said he was vomiting blood,' Teacher said. 'Has there been any blood in his pee or poop that you know of?' I shook my head.

'No,' I answered. We walked down the hallway and I pointed to our room. Teacher walked inside, Al dry heaving loudly. I hurried over to his bed and held his hand. 'Al! Teacher's here. You'll be okay. She's gonna take good care of you.' Teacher took a good look at us, her eyes stuck on a bruise that Al had on his cheek. I nervously tried to hide my face, not thinking about the fresh injuries that I had on my arms and neck.

'Ed,' Teacher addressed softly. 'Who did that to you?' I shook my head, my throat tightening up.

'N-Nobody,' I lied, saying the lines I had memorized from years of abuse. 'I fell down the stairs.'

'You can tell me,' Teacher encouraged. I felt tears start falling as my chin quivered.

'I can't,' I cried softly, wiping my face with my arm. Teacher sighed.

'Well, let's just focus on Al, then,' she said. I kinda figured she had a hunch about what was going on. Teacher's smart. She's really smart. I'm sure that me telling her Vanessa hadn't taken Al who was clearly sick to the doctor helped to confirm some of her suspicions. After all, Al and I weren't exactly normal kids. We constantly went to her house covered in bruises and burns, smelling worse than a wet dog, and were jumpier than a startled rabbit. She had to have known something was wrong. I think that Al getting sick was the final piece of the puzzle for her and it would begin a nearly four-year long process of her hot-lining our step-mom but nothing ever happening. Teacher walked over to Al's bed and squatted down.

'Hey,' she said gently. 'Where does your tummy hurt or does it just hurt all over?' Al pointed to his right side.

'It's the worse here,' he whimpered. 'But it h-hurts all o-over.' Teacher shook her head.

'We need to go to the ER,' she decided. 'Let's get a bag –'

'No!' I cried shrilly, cutting her off. Teacher's brow furrowed and I started crying. 'W-We c-cant' go! Sh-She'll find out an-and w-we'll get in t-trouble!'

'Ed,' Teacher said gently, 'There's nothing I can do for Al. He needs to see a doctor. It's the only way he'll get better.'

'We can't!' I wailed. 'We a-aren't s-supposed to leave!'

'Edward,' Teacher said. I hesitantly looked up at her and she smiled at me. 'No one will get you in trouble, especially not that woman. Not while I'm with you. You did the right thing calling me. We need to go to the ER so Ally can get better. When I'm with you, you're safe.' I nodded, sniffling pathetically.

'We'll need to call Dada,' I told her. Teacher nodded.

'I know,' she replied. 'Get a bag ready for Al in case he has an accident.'

'We just need these,' I told her, hurrying over to the closet. I pulled out the hidden bag of Pull-Ups in our closet. Teacher's brow furrowed and I said, 'Our stepmom makes Al wear these to bed 'cause he wets the bed a lot. I figured it was a good idea to wear one now since he's so sick.' Teacher nodded.

'Does she force you to?' She questioned. I shook my head.

'No,' I answered, my voice shaking with shame. 'If I wet the bed, I just get yelled at or sprayed with the hose –!' I covered my mouth with my hand and shook my head. 'I mean, I just get in trouble. That's it! Nothing more!'

'I doubt your father yells at you,' Teacher said gently. I shrugged.

'He doesn't,' I sniffled. 'He always gives me a big hug and tells me it's okay and cleans it all up for me.' Teacher smiled and took the bag of Pull-Ups from me.

'I'll just take a few of these with us,' she said.

'And I'll get Al's Chico,' I said, grabbing the stuffed cat. Teacher put a few Pull-Ups in her purse and turned back to Al.

'Okay, Al,' she said gently, 'I'm going to pick you up, okay? We're going to go to the ER so you can see a doctor.' Al nodded, crying loudly, and Teacher picked him up. He screamed, the movement upsetting his tummy. Teacher just held him close, Al resting his head on her shoulder and bawling loudly. Teacher rubbed his back and whispered in his ear so he'd calm down. She walked over to me and took my hand in hers, guiding me out of the house and to her car.

"It didn't take long for us to get to the ER. Teacher had tried calling Dada, but kept getting sent to voice mail. I told her that Dad was in Chicago, but was probably tied up in a meeting. He'd call back as soon as he had a chance. Teacher struggled through the ER admission paperwork and I couldn't really help her, either. It's not like I knew if Al was allergic to any medications. Once she had everything as filled out as she could get it, we had to wait for a room to open up. Poor Al was crying softly, clearly in a lot of pain. He wasn't breathing right and was still trying to throw up. I brought him some water but it came right back up just a few minutes later. I kept trying, knowing he needed to drink something, and eventually one cup seemed to stay down. He was still trying to puke, but was only coughing up that bloody mucous. He was miserable and nothing me or Teacher was helping. Al was sitting on Teacher's lap, sweaty and shivering, when her phone rang. She picked it up and said,

'We're at the ER." It was Dada. I imagined that he was probably freaking out over the phone, asking about a million questions to try and figure out what was going on with Al. 'Al's sick. From what Ed's told me, he's been having belly aches and diarrhea for a week or so, but the pain's gotten worse. He can barely move now and he's been throwing up all day. They took his temp when we got here and it's 102. No, we're not in a room yet. He's puking up bloody mucous, Victor.' I waited anxiously beside Teacher, wondering what in the world Dada was saying. Teacher nodded and said, 'That's what I think, too. We won't know until we're seen. Want to talk to the boys?' I watched eagerly as Teacher took her phone away from her ear, put it on speaker, and handed it to me.

'Dada!' I cried anxiously.

'Ed, hey,' Dada replied worriedly. 'I'm coming home, okay? I'll meet you and Al at the ER.'

'He's really sick, Dada,' I told him, Al moaning wordlessly on Teacher's lap. 'He's been getting worse and worse, but Vanessa thought he was faking. Al's not a faker, Dada! He doesn't lie!'

'Shh, I know, sweetie,' Dada assured me. 'Al's never been one to fake sick. I'll have to talk to Vanessa when I get home. She should know that by now.' I nodded, my lip trembling. Dada should have known that Vanessa didn't give a shit about either of us by now. He should have figured something was off like Teacher did that day. But he didn't. I wiped my eyes and gently nudged Al.

'Say hi to Dada, Ally,' I instructed, my voice shaking.

'Daddy,' Al whimpered. 'Daddy, I don' feel good.'

'I know, baby, I know,' Dada comforted over the phone. 'Daddy's gonna come home and I'll be with you real soon. Chicago's not too far from home. I need to talk to Miss Izumi so more, okay, boys? I'll see you both real soon.'

'Okay, Dada,' I replied, though I didn't want to give him up. He was making me feel better, even though he wasn't even there.

'I love you both,' he said. 'Al, be a big boy, okay?'

'He'll try, Dada,' I replied. 'We love you, too.' I handed the phone back to Teacher, faintly hearing Dad's voice coming from the phone.

'He's in a Pull-Up,' Teacher said, petting Al's sweaty hair. 'He's been too weak to get up and go potty. I think he's too dehydrated to go potty right now anyway, but we put one on just in case. Actually, it was Ed who did that. No, Vanessa left them home alone. Ed called me in a panic just a little while ago, practically begging me to do something.' My heart was beating funny as Teacher talked. Yes, she was telling the truth, but when Vanessa found out about all that I knew I'd be in for it. I also knew I couldn't start freaking out in the waiting room, so I just twisted the fabric of my shirt in my hands as Teacher continued to talk.

'Alphonse Elric?' A nurse called.

'They just called him back,' Teacher told Dada over the phone. 'I'll call if anything changes. Keep your phone on.' Teacher hung up and stood, Al limply in her arms. She took my hand and we walked behind the nurse to the room.

"When we got there, the nurse took some vitals and asked us a bunch of questions. I told the truth, even though I was scared too. I was scared that Vanessa would hit me for telling the truth, but I didn't want to risk not telling the nurse everything and Al not getting better because of it. She told Teacher that they needed to get a blood sample and a urine sample from Al. Teacher told the nurse she wasn't sure if Al could go potty since he hadn't really had much to drink and the nurse said that if he couldn't, they'd put a catheter inside him and force some pee out. I didn't really know what a catheter was when I was nine and I didn't ask, I just knew that sounded horrible. The nurse started to prepare Al to get his blood drawn and he didn't flinch, not once. He was really out of it and miserable. When the needle went in, he cried a lot, but was too tired to fight. They took three tubes of blood and the nurse did her best to comfort Al. She put a band-aid on his arm when she was all finished and gave Teacher a cup for him to pee in. Teacher said that Al must have had an accident when they did the blood draw 'cause he felt wet to her. The nurse nodded and even though they put an IV in his hand for fluids, she said he probably wouldn't pee again for a while and they needed his pee ASAP. She hurried out of the room for the catheter after saying that a technician would be in to do a sonogram of his stomach since everyone suspected he was having an episode of appendicitis. Once the nurse was gone, I turned to Teacher and frantically asked,

'Appendicitis? Is he gonna be okay?' Teacher moved some sweaty hair from Al's face and nodded.

'Of course, Ed,' she assured me. 'At the least, they'll give him medicine and at the most he'll get his appendix out. Either way, he'll be okay.'

'Ally had an accident?' I asked, Al crying loudly.

'Yes,' she answered, trying to comfort my poor brother. 'I don't think he even knew he had to go potty, Ed.'

'He doesn't feel good,' I said.

'I know,' Teacher replied.

'S-Sorry!' Al wailed, Teacher hugging him tighter.

'Shh, it's okay,' she comforted softly. 'I'll get you changed when the nurse comes back.'

'How come you're waiting?' I asked.

'The nurse is going to take Al's pajamas off to put the catheter in,' Teacher explained to me gently. 'Since she has to do that, I'll just wait until she's done with the catheter to change him.' I nodded.

'Is that gonna hurt Al?' I asked nervously.

'It definitely won't feel good,' Teacher said, the door opening. I thought it was the nurse but I peed myself a little when I saw it wasn't; it was Vanessa. I whimpered, cowering into Teacher who put a free arm around me.

'What are you doing here?' Teacher asked shortly, pulling me in closer.

'I'm here to see my step-son,' Vanessa replied, obviously irritated. 'To see if he's as sick as his brother claims he is.'

'Considering he's puking up bloody mucous, I'd say he is,' Teacher snapped. I hid my face, Teacher going on, 'You knew damn well he was sick and you didn't take him to a doctor.' Vanessa huffed loudly.

'And what do you care?' Vanessa demanded. 'These brats aren't your concern.'

'That's where you're wrong,' Teacher informed her, the door opening again. The nurse came back in and walked over to Teacher.

'Can you put him on the bed, please?' The nurse asked. Teacher nodded and stood up. I quickly followed behind her, my legs shaking.

'Teacher,' I whispered fearfully, grabbing her shirt, 'Teacher, she's mad at me.'

'It's alright,' she assured me, gently laying Al down on the bed. He was crying loudly, Teacher handing him his Chico. She petted his hair, trying to get him to calm down as Vanessa angrily watched from the doorway.

'Okay, buddy,' the nurse said gently. 'I'm going to take your pajamas and underwear off for a minute. I'm going to put the catheter in your pee-pee to force some pee to come out of you. It's going to hurt a little since your tummy hurts, but it'll be over really soon, okay?' Al nodded, crying still. I took his hand and watched as she pulled everything off. I shut my eyes, Al starting to whimper loudly as the nurse got everything ready. Soon he was screaming, the nurse asking for Teacher to hold him down.

'It's okay, Al,' I heard Teacher say. 'It's okay. I'm right here. I'm right here.' Al stopped fighting, crying as the nurse waited for pee to drain into the catheter. Soon, it was over and Teacher was changing Al right there in bed. Once the nurse was gone, Vanessa snickered at me.

'You should probably have her put a diaper on you, too, Edward,' she taunted. I shook my head, my lip trembling.

'I only leaked,' I mumbled, Teacher patting my head.

'Go potty, Ed,' she instructed. I looked up at her.

'What about Al?' I asked worriedly.

'I've got him,' Teacher assured me softly. 'He's safe and so are you. She can't do anything to you here. Go potty.' I nodded and gave Al a quick kiss on the cheek.

'I'll be right back,' I told him. I hurried to the bathroom, terrified of leaving Teacher and Al alone with Vanessa for too long.

"The sonogram didn't take too long and the results of all those tests came back quick. Sure enough, Al's appendix was enlarged, threatening to burst. They got him ready for emergency surgery, Teacher calling Dada so he'd know. Once Al was in surgery, Teacher, Vanessa and I were all waiting in a new waiting room. I knew Dada would be there soon and I was terrified. I was terrified that after Teacher talked to him, Vanessa called and told him all sorts of untrue things so he'd be mad at me for calling Teacher. I waited anxiously, Teacher sitting next to me, when Dada walked in. Even though I was scared, I jumped right up and ran over to him. He wrapped me up in his arms, giving me a big hug, and the word vomit started;

'I'm sorry I called Teacher, Dada, but I was scared and didn't know what to do! Al was running a fever and he was puking blood and wasn't getting up for anything and Vanessa didn't do anything so I panicked! An' Al was a big boy, but he had an accident! An' I leaked a little, but I didn't mean to, I swear! An' Al was really scared but I told him that you'd be there when he woke up and I'm so sorry, Dada! I should have called you or Vanessa but I didn't and I'm sorry!'

'Shh,' Dada comforted, rubbing my back. 'It's okay, sweetie. You did the right thing. I'm proud of you for being such a good big brother and taking care of Al.' I kept crying, Dada holding me close.

'I was going to take him if he didn't get better before I got home,' Vanessa lied. Dad pulled away and I hid my face in his chest.

'Vanessa, you left my nine and seven-year-old at home, by themselves, while the seven-year-old was sicker than a dog,' Dada said. 'You don't see a problem with that?'

'I thought Ed was old enough to stay home by himself for a couple of hours,' Vanessa replied calmly.

'He's not,' Dad said shortly and I could tell he was angry. I remember briefly thinking that maybe, just maybe, Dada had caught on and he was gonna get rid of Vanessa for good. I was wrong, of course, but Dad was mad at her for a while after this. 'He's only nine, Vanessa. He can't stay home alone and babysit Al. What if something else had happened or he didn't call Izumi? God, I don't even want to think about it. They are not allowed to stay home alone, period.'

'I'm sorry, Victor,' Vanessa said blandly.

'And you knew he was feverish and you didn't take him to the doctor!?' Dada continued. 'He might have some issues telling the truth sometimes, but Al's a good little boy and he doesn't fake sick. You've known him since he was four. You should know that.'

'You're right,' Vanessa said, clearly disinterested. 'I'm sorry.' Dada scowled at her but shook his head.

'We'll talk about this later,' he told her, sitting down next to Teacher, me in his lap. He turned to Teacher and said, 'Thank you for taking him to the ER. You didn't have to.' Teacher shook her head.

'Someone had to,' Teacher replied, everyone falling silent until Al was out of surgery."

My watch beeps and I quickly turn it off. Dr. Hughes says thank you to me and asks if anyone else has anything to say. I look at my shoes, hoping that no one feels like discussing my story. I mean, it's my birthday. I've already told the damn thing. I really don't wanna answer follow-up questions on top of it all. No one says anything for a minute, Dr. Hughes encouraging the group to speak. He says they can talk about anything; my story, their story, their pets…. Anything so that we're not just all sitting there. I hear someone clear their throat and Dr. Hughes says,

"Have something to add, Nicole?"

"Ed," she addresses. I look up timidly and she asks, "Do you still live with your dad?" I nod.

"Yeah," I answer softly.

"Why in the world did the state allow you to stay with him?" Nicole questions loudly. "He's just as guilty as your step-mom." I grind my teeth.

"Look, just drop it," I warn. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But he didn't even do anything to help you guys!" Nicole insists. "Did he know?!"

"No!" I snap. "He didn't, okay?! I don't wanna talk about it so shut up!"

"Okay, guys, calm down," Dr. Hughes interjects quickly. "Nicole, this is a very touchy subject for Ed and we need to respect his boundaries. Long story short, his father didn't know the abuse was happening and felt very guilty that it went unknown for so long. He had nothing to do with it so that's why Ed and Al still live with him. Now, don't ask Ed anymore questions about it. You're welcome to share your story, but don't ask Ed about his anymore." I look gratefully over at Dr. Hughes. He winks at me and I grin. I really like Dr. Hughes. Sure, he can get all therapist-y and that annoys me, but he's super cool and I can tell he really cares about me and Al. He didn't have to tell Nicole to back off, but he did.

"I guess I can share mine," Nicole mutters, falling back into her seat. She looks right at me and says, "From one abuse survivor to another. I was sexually abused by my babysitter when I was five." The room goes silent, Nicole still looking at me. I squirm in my seat, getting really creeped out. "It went on for a little while before he got caught. It really messed me up. I started looking at porn when I was about ten and started to self-harm, too." Al fidgets anxiously, tugging at his sleeves.

"That's very brave of you to say," Dr. Hughes praises, Nicole still staring at me and Al. She notices Al's anxious movements and says,

"I still have issues with self-harm," she continues, Al doing his best to stay calm. "I know it hurts my friends and family, but sometimes I can't bring myself to care. I'm sure there's people in this room who understand that." Al shakes his head, doing his best to stay quiet. I cross my arms, deciding that if she's gonna stare me down like a creeper, I'm gonna do the same to her until she backs off.

"That's an interesting thing to say," Dr. Hughes comments. "Is it that you don't care when you're actually doing it or do you not care all the time?"

"A little bit of both," Nicole replies, still looking at me and Al. "It's just, I'm in so much pain that I guess I don't care that what I do hurts other people if that makes sense."

"It's a little selfish," I blurt, unable to stop myself. Most of the time, I hate when my bubbles in my throat prevent me from talking. There are times, though, that I wish they would drag my words far away so no one ever hears them. This is one of those times. I blush slightly and shake my head. "Never mind."

"Selfish?" Nicole questions sharply.

"Ed?" Dr. Hughes encourages. I guess he wants to hear what I have to say. I don't know. I take a deep breath, deciding to hold Al's hand and look at Dr. Hughes instead of looking at Nicole.

"It's selfish," I begin. "When you do that, you're deciding that your pain and how you feel trumps everyone else's feelings when that's not true. No one's feelings are more important than someone else's. Everyone goes through shit in life. Sometimes it's abuse or something like that, but sometimes it's not. It's all shit, just not the same shit. When I… when I was cutting, I did care about how Dada or Al felt about it. I knew it hurt them and that bothered me. I wanted to stop because I hated what it did to the people I cared about so I did. You aren't the only one who suffered because you were abused. You got the most of it, yeah, but your family suffered, too. It's hard for them to see you go through that. So it's selfish of you to say you don't care that your self-harm hurts others. It just is." The room is dead silent, Nicole glaring at me.

"Well said, Ed," Dr. Hughes praises, steering the group in another direction. Al squeezes my hand, telling me with his eyes he's proud of me. I smile at him, pleased that I not only got praised, but I made Nicole angry, too.

Group ends and Dada picks us up. Nicole's little self-harm speech made me and Al too anxious to eat out so I just pick where to get food from. I pick Red Lobster because we don't get that very often and I really love those cheddar biscuits they have. Dada places the order and we drive almost thirty minutes away from home to get there. Dad's all chatty, probably excited to give me my cake and watch me open presents. He always acts like it was mainly Mom who liked to make birthdays special but the truth is, Dada loves it, too. When Al's disastrous fifth birthday happened, Dada had been out of town for, like, two weeks and trusted that she would plan something special. When she didn't, Dad began planning a way to make it up to Al because he really did feel bad. About a week later, after Dada picked us up from school, he whispered to me that he had put balloons all over our house but to not tell Al. When we got home, Dad told Al to close his eyes and he picked Al up. I watched as Dada carried him inside and I gasped when I saw there really were balloons everywhere. Not just normal round balloons, either. Some were huge and shaped like the number five. There was a Pikachu balloon, balloons that said happy birthday, and two giant A and L shaped balloons. Dad told Al to open his eyes and Al was so happy he started crying. There was a little cake for Al in the kitchen and Dada even got Al one last little present to open. So birthdays were really important to Mama, but they're just as important to Dad.

We get home and there's a few balloons tied to the mail box. I smile and we go inside, balloons all over the kitchen and dining room. Dada kisses my cheek and wishes me a happy birthday as we take our food to the dining room. We eat, laughing and telling silly stories from birthdays I had when I was little. Once we're done eating, Dada tells me to close my eyes. I do, my heart pounding with excitement. I can hear the feet hurrying out of the dining room, leaving me to wonder what Dad has planned. I know it won't be anything huge or spectacular, but it'll be awesome because Dada has obviously planned this whole thing to a tee. I hum softly, listening for any hints that Dad has come back in. I don't hear any so I chuckle lightly. Dad's really going all out. After what feels like years, Dada says,

"Okay, open your eyes." I do, smiling brightly. My presents are on the table, the cake in front of them. The cake's small, just big enough for me, Dada, and Al to share, and there's two candles on it. It's a one and a six, and they're lit already.

"Ready, Al?" Dad asks.

"Yeah!" Al cries.

"Happy birthday to you," Dada and Al sing, "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Edward; happy birthday to you!"

"Make a wish, Brother!" Al says happily, jumping a little. I shut my eyes again, wondering what in the world to wish for. Sure, my mental health might be shit. I might not be able to sleep at night, or drive, or do any of the things other sixteen-year-olds do, but I honestly can't think of a single thing to wish for. So I decide to wish for better mental health for both me and Al this year and blow out the candles. Dad and Al clap, Al cheering loudly.

"Yay, Ed!" Al cheers.

"Okay, I'll cut the cake," Dad says warmly. "Al, you want to hand Ed a present?" Al nods and hands me the worst-wrapped one on the table.

"Is this from you?" I ask. Al nods eagerly.

"Open it!" He cried excitedly. I laugh at him and start to open it. I have no idea what anyone could have gotten me. I didn't really make a list or anything like that. My family knows what I like, though, so I guess present shopping couldn't have been too hard. I chuckle at Al and unwrap it. There's a box under the wrapping paper so I open it and pull out what's inside. It's a black mug. I flip it over, chuckling when I see what's on it. In silver letters are the periodic table boxes for sulfur, tungsten, and silver. S-W-Ag. Swag. That's funny.

"Where in the world did you get this?" I ask him, chuckling. Al looks smugly at me.

"I made it," he informs me proudly. "I saved up some money to buy the mug and the silver paint pen. It's oil-based, Brother, so you can wash the mug by hand and the paint shouldn't come off."

"Did you bake it?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yeah!" He cries. He fidgets with his shirt and asks, "Do you like it?" I smile at him.

"Love it," I tell him, Al wearing a big, goofy smile on his face. Even though it's my birthday, it feels good to make Al smile like that. Al means more to me than anyone else so I'm glad that he's happy. Dada gives us all a piece of cake and I finish opening my presents, the terrible day at group pretty much forgotten by bedtime.


	45. Birthday Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had to actually look up what movies were playing the first weekend of February in 2016. Turns out there wasn't that many.

My alarm's going off. I groan, sitting up in bed and looking over at my alarm clock on my nightstand. It's seven in the morning on Saturday. Why in the world is my alarm going off? We're not going to the movie until later today. I shake my head and turn off the alarm, about to lie back down, when I notice Al's not in his bed. I quickly put my leg on and start to head out of my room. There's a suit hanging up on my closet and I stop to look at it. I'm not going to the dance tonight. Why is a suit hanging up? I shake my head. I don't even own a suit. Nothing's making sense this morning. I walk out of the room and start calling for Al. I can see Picard sitting nearby, staring at the ground. I walk over to the cat and squat down. I try to pet him but he darts away from me, meowing softly and running down the stairs. Whatever. I continue to look for Al, unable to find him anywhere. I go to Dada's room, Dad putting a suit on in his room.

"Uh, Dad?" I ask, Dada turning around. He smiles weakly at me and I walk into the room. "What's going on? I can't find Al anywhere. Why are you wearing a suit?" Dada shakes his head, his eyes getting sad.

"Go get ready," Dad tells me. "Put on your suit, okay? We're going to see Al very soon." My brow furrows.

"But where is he?" I ask, my heart beating funny. "Why do we need to dress up just to go see Al?" Dad walks over to me and puts his arms around me. He hugs me, petting my hair gently.

"Oh, sweetheart," Dada sighs. I start breathing funny, Dad comforting me in the middle of his room.

"Dada?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"It's okay, Ed," Dad assures me, though I can tell he's fighting tears. "Go get ready." I nod, though I'm really freaked out. This all kinda reminds me of day of Mom's funeral, but that was ten years ago. I walk back to my room, noticing Al's bed is unusually tidy. Chico is sitting up by the pillow, all the covers tucked in just right. I frown and walk over, grabbing the stuffed cat. Why doesn't Al have Chico? Even when Al's not carrying Chico around, he always has him in his backpack. Chico's Al's comfort item. He needs Chico. Since we're apparently meeting up with Al where we're going that requires us to dress up, I'll just bring Chico to him. He's probably really anxious without Chico.

I put the suit on, failing to tie my tie. I've never been good at tying my own ties. Al's pretty good at it, but he's still not all that good. At least he can tie it without it looking like a toddler did it. I go back to Dada's room and he ties my tie for me, chuckling weakly at my poor tie skills. He kisses my cheek and guides me out of the room. Picard watches us walk into the garage and I say goodbye to the cat. We get in the car, Dada glancing backward at the backseat before blinking rapidly. I stare at him as he backs out of the garage. That was weird. We get out of our subdivision, Dad unusually quiet. Like, Dad is a quiet person, he always has been. But normally when me and Al are in the car with him, he tells silly stories and talks to us. He and I haven't said a single word to each other so far. We drive passed the park me and Al always used to hide in when we were kids and Dada chuckles softly.

"I taught Al how to ride his bike in that park when he was five, remember?" Dada says suddenly, his voice shaking like he's going to cry.

"I remember," I answer. "He fell off a lot." Dad chuckles softly.

"Yeah; never gave up, though," Dad comments.

"Well, that's Al," I reply. "He's never been one to give up." Dad smiles sadly, the little park disappearing in the rearview mirrors.

"Yeah," Dada says softly. I stare at him again. What the hell is going on? Why won't Dada tell me?

"Dad, where are we going?" I ask. "Where's Al?" Dad shakes his head and falls silent, leaving me to stew in the uncertainty of where we're going and what's going on.

We drive for a few more minutes before Dada pulls into a church parking lot. Okay, this is weird. First of all, it's Saturday and we never go to church on Sundays anyways. Dad parks and we walk inside, a few well-dressed people standing outside. They nod silently at us but never say anything. Inside the church are a lot of people, including members of both sides of my family. Nana Elric, Aunt Edith, Aunt Karen and Uncle George, Aunt Edith's kids, and even Papa. My brow furrows and I scan the room for Al. I see my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, Winry, Granny, and even all my friends, but there's no sign of Al. I walk into the sanctuary, trying to find Al. There's a casket sitting at the bottom of the stairs. I cautiously walk toward it, stopping when Dada calls my name. I turn to face him, Dada just standing near the door.

"Dad," I say, "Who died?" Papa's alive, Nana's alive, Granny's alive…. Even Aunt Edith is alive and she's really super old. Dad walks over to me and hugs me, my arms staying glued to my sides.

"Oh, Ed," Dad sighs like he's about to cry. "I know how hard this has been on you." My heart feels like it's about to explode, Dada choking and beginning to cry. I push away, Dad on the verge of sobbing.

"Dada?" I ask. He simply takes my hand in his own and walks with me to the casket. He looks away, tears running down his face and I peer over the edge of the casket. My eyes widen, staggering on my feet when I see who's in the casket.

"Al?" I gasp, my lungs unable to breathe correctly. Al's lying in the casket, eyes closed like he's asleep. His hands are resting on his stomach, all folded up the way dead people's hands are always folded. I shake my head and take a step back. What? What?!

"You've been so out of it since he died," Dada tells me, crying. "You found his body on Wednesday night."

"What?" I breathe. I can't remember finding a dead body. I can't remember Al acting weird enough that he'd commit suicide! What the hell happened?!

"He was hanging in your room," Dada sobs, "He left a note saying kids had been telling him to kill himself since he started high school and he finally did it." I shake my head, unable to believe it's true.

"Th-That's not true!" I cry, tears forming in my eyes. "Al's getting better! He doesn't really wanna kill himself!" Dad shakes his head.

"Oh, honey," Dada cries. "Honey, it is true. I wish it wasn't, but our Al is dead." I shake my head, starting to cry.

"B-But I d-d-don't r-remember!" I wail. "I d-don't remember f-f-finding Al's b-body! Wh-Why c-c-can't I r-r-remember?"

"Sweetie, it's okay," Dad tells me, no longer crying. I glance meekly up at him, Dad's face completely free of tears. "We're better off without him."

"Huh?" I ask weakly.

"All he did was cause problems," Dada says. "Always making messes and keeping us up at night and preventing us from even leaving the house. We're much better off now that he's dead." My brows point angrily and I shove Dada away.

"What the hell?!" I cry. "How can you say that?!" Dad raises his head and he's not Dada anymore. It's her. I gasp, falling back on my butt and try to scoot away. "G-Get away f-from me!"

"Pathetic, useless boy," she mocks. "Of course your father is better off without him." She lunges at me, grabbing me by the neck, and goes on, "Just like he'll be better off without you."

I sit up right, screaming as my bedwetting alarm goes crazy. The screaming ends, my chest feeling tight and like my throat's made of rubber. I start wheezing, unable to get my breathing right. I hear the floor creak next to me but my mind's cloudy. I'm scared so I roll out of bed, landing on my left shoulder. I cry out, pain shooting through my arm as I struggle to get away from whoever is getting closer to me. I can't hear anything over my own breathing and heartbeat. I try to find my prosthetic in the dark but fail, my hands flailing around frantically. I bump into the wall, my left arm throbbing and I start begging.

"Get away, please! Just leave me alone!"

"Brother?" My heart stops for a split second, my head clearing up. I look up, Al standing over me, looking really worried. I try to stand up, forgetting I don't have my leg on and fall back down. I notice the alarm's off and I shiver, suddenly really cold. Al kneels down next to me and before he can say or do anything, I throw myself on to him. I hug him tight, as tight as I can with my dislocated arm, and start bawling. Al returns the hug, petting my hair to calm me down. I crying like a baby, Al's shaking hands trying to get me to stop.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Al asks softly. I nod so Al asks, "Did you have an accident?" I nod again, still crying loudly.

"It w-was so sc-scary, Al-Alphie," I whimper.

"Shh," Al whispers softly. "It's all over. It was just a dream. You're okay." I shake my head, shaking into Al's body. He hugs me tighter, trying his best to calm me down so I don't end up throwing up. But my tummy's already upset since I've been sobbing for a few minutes and I've been sobbing pretty hard and loud, too. I try to crawl into Al's lap the way he always does after he has a bad dream, but it's hard since I don't have my leg on. I get frustrated, my sobbing getting worse, Al simply pulling me up into his lap. He just holds me there, lowering his head into my shoulder.

"Boys? You okay?" I feel Al nod at Dad's question.

"Brother had a bad dream," Al says softly. Dad pets my hair as I shiver into Al and he sighs sadly.

"I sorta figured," Dada says softly. I glance over at him, Dad kneeling down next to Al. "You okay, Brother?" I shake my head, chin quivering as Dad leans closer toward me and Al. I cling to Al some more, Dada doing his best to comfort me from a distance. "Ed, you're going to make yourself sick, sweetie. Try to breathe." I nod, but can't seem to do it. All I can do is cry harder. I can't get that image of Al in a casket out of my mind. But what I really can't shake the feeling of is Dada saying how we'd all be better off if Al just wasn't around. I mean, it wasn't her who said it. No, Dad did. Dad who's always done his best to look after us even when he wasn't in the best place to do so or when he was so blinded by her. Dad who's always loved us, took care of us, taught us how to ride bikes and play cards and plays his violin to calm us down. Dada who gives goodnight kisses even though we're teenagers, who likes to cuddle, and who does his best to make us laugh. That person said that Al was worthless. That all Al does is make messes and cause problems. Dada said that. Sure, it was a dream, but I can't get that image out of my mind. I whimper, burying my face deeper into Al's shirt.

"It's okay," Al comforts, his shaking hands petting my hair gently. "It's okay. I'm right here. You don't have to be scared anymore."

"Al," Dad addresses softly, "I heard the alarm go off." I feel Al nod again, my face getting hot. Oh, great. Just what I need right now. The whole, "Yeah, Dada, Ed wet the bed again," speech. That'll get me to breathe normal. Not.

"He had an accident," Al says quietly. "He had a really scary dream, Dada."

"You wanna talk about it, Ed?" Dada asks. I sniffle and wipe my nose on my right hand since it hurts to move the left one.

"Yeah," I whimper. "I, uh…. Al was dead. He killed himself, but I didn't find out 'til we got to his funeral. You kept it a secret from me and when I found out you…. Y-You s-said w-we were b-b-better off without h-him! You s-s-said all h-he d-d-does is c-cause p-p-problems a-and make m-messes! A-And th-th-then you t-t-turned into her and…." I start crying again and Dada pulls me into his chest. Al allows Dada to pull me away, sitting nearby as Dad holds me close.

"Sounds like that was an awful dream, Brother," Dad says softly. I keep crying loudly, Dada humming in my ear. "You know? I don't think I've ever told you about when me and Mom were talking about having kids." My brow furrows, my crying becoming hiccups as I look up at Dad. Kind of a weird story to tell right now.

"Huh?" I ask softly, my voice shaking.

"I never wanted kids," Dada begins. "I mean, I knew Mom did, but when we were dating I made it pretty clear that kids, especially at that point in my life when I was so focused on school and getting into grad school, was something that just wasn't going to happen. I eventually broke down, though, telling her that if she really wanted kids and if that was something that was important to her, I'd be okay with having a kid or two later on. Mom, well, wasn't particularly happy with my choice of words or attitude, but boy oh boy – did she love me. After we got married and I was working toward my doctorate, Mom started talking about kids again. It wasn't a super good time for me as I was stressed out of my mind and my father was starting to show the early signs of Alzheimer's, so I sort of just put the kids-thing on the back burner again."

"What happened?" Al asks, leaning in. Dada chuckles at him.

"Well, after we moved Resembool during all that school stress and Papa getting sick, Mom got pregnant with Ed," Dada replies, looking right at me. His eyes are all gentle, the skin getting all wrinkly in the corners. He smiles at me and goes on, "I didn't know how to feel at first. I mean, sure, I was happy since Mama was so happy, but I honestly didn't have much of a reaction. Like I said, I never even wanted kids at all. But there was this one doctor's appointment, right around the eight month, when things changed for me. Mom decided she wanted to try to get a sonogram picture of Ed to put into an ornament for our tree. I was just there to be supportive since having kids was always her dream, and she suddenly told me to look at the screen."

"Wh-What did you see?" I hiccup.

"Your face," Dada says warmly. "I had heard your heartbeat before at Mom's appointments but when I heard it while seeing your face on the screen, my heart melted. Suddenly, I wanted kids. I wanted to meet you. I wanted to give you lots of siblings to play with. I wanted to watch you grow up, teach you how to do important things, and help mold you into a kind and intelligent person. In that moment, I wanted kids, and not just because it was gonna make Trisha happy. I wanted kids because I wanted kids. So, even though in your dream I said all those terrible things, it really can't be true. You and Al mean the world to me. You two are the reason I'm the person that I am. I'm only a good dad because of you two and I'd argue that I'm not even that good of a dad. But I love the two of you so much and I hope that counts for something." Al crawls over and gives us both a big hug, Dada cuddling closer to me.

"Love you, Dada," Al says softly. Dad kisses my hair before kissing Al's and I notice that my breathing's normal. I'm not crying anymore. Dada's story actually made me feel better. Huh. Good job, Dada.

"Feel better, Ed?" Dad asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "I like when you tell stories." Dad snuggles closer to me, so close I can still smell his stale cologne on his clothes.

"I know, sweetie," Dad replies. He kisses my hair again and says, "Okay, let's get clean jammies on you."

"I need my leg," I inform him weakly, suddenly really tired.

"I'll get it," Al says, springing up. He goes to get the leg and hands it to me. I strap it on and Dada helps me stand up. I wince, my arm hurting a little and Dada hurries over to my dresser. He picks out clean clothes for me and tells me I can meet him in his room if I want. I nod and go the bathroom. I try to pee and peel my soaked clothes off. I head to Dada's room, Al already lying down in bed with Dada. They're just talking softly, Al giggling at something funny Dad said. I smile weakly. Okay, so maybe Dada never wanted kids. Maybe Dad is reserved and not always in-tune with his feelings. Maybe Dada didn't notice what me and Al were going through when we were kids. Maybe I still am angry at him and blame him for things a lot. But I wouldn't trade him for the world.

"Ed!" Al cries happily. A big grin's on his face, Dada chuckling weakly.

"C'mon, sweetie," Dada. "Let's get some sleep before your birthday weekend starts." I smile and hurry over. I bounce on the bed, Al laughing loudly. Dad tickles him a little, Al kicking his hands away lightly. "Silly boy."

"Hey, Dada?" I ask.

"Yeah?"

"Is that story true?" I ask, kinda in disbelief that my dad never wanted kids. The way I always heard it is that they were talking about it since they got married. Well, I guess they were, just not in the way I always imagined.

"Of course it is," Dada replies. "Have I ever lied to you?" I giggle, lying down in between Dada and Al. Instantly Al wraps his arms around my middle.

"Thank you," I say tiredly, Al nuzzling his face into my shoulder.

"No, thank you," Dada replies. "Goodnight, boys. I love you both so, so much."

Everyone in my house slept late today. We were all pretty worn out from last night, especially since Al ended up peeing in Dada's bed a couple hours after we went back to sleep. Once we got up, we ate some lunch and got ready to go. We decided to go see something happy, so we're gonna see Kung Fu Panda 3. Now that we're done eating, we're on our way to Winry's. It's just gonna be her and Granny joining us for the movie. I kinda wanted to invite someone else like Rose or Ling but they're all going to the dance. Ling's going with Lan Fan and Paninya and Rose are going as friends since neither of them got dates. They wanted me and Al to go with them a long time ago, but we turned them down. We turned them down long before Hannah asked Al out. After all, this weekend was my birthday weekend long before we knew the dance was today. We drive to Winry's house, that little park getting closer and closer. My bad dream comes back to me as I watch it get smaller as we drive passed, Al blinking at me.

"Ed?" He asks worriedly, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. I shake my head.

"Huh?" I reply stupidly. Al's worried, big eyes stare at me from the backseat.

"Are you okay?" Al asks anxiously, his hands twisting the fabric of his shirt. I nod, trying my best to smile convincingly.

"Yeah," I assure him. "'Course am I."

"Is something on your mind, Ed?" Dada asks. I shrug.

"I can't get that stupid bad dream out of my mind," I say. "It felt so real, you know?" Al nods.

"I know," Al replies softly, his voice shaking. "I, uh, had this dream one time that you were dead, Brother." I turn to look at him.

"Really?" I ask, baffled. Al's never been one to not talk about his dreams or his feelings or the stuff that's bothering him. I mean, he's been a little bit more secretive now that he's dealing with the suicidal thoughts and the self-harm, but for the most part Al tells me everything. It's kinda weird that he'd have such a vivid dream and not tell me about it.

"Yeah," Al says, his chin quivering. "She hurt you bad enough to kill you. Dada figured it out and divorced her, but it was too late. You died and it felt so real. It was so scary."

"That sounds like an awful dream to have, Al," Dad says.

"What about you, Dada?" I ask. "Have you ever had a dream that feels that real?" Dad nods.

"I have," Dad replies quietly. "Of course I have." I nod. I guess everybody has had a dream like that before. Not everyone wants to talk about them. Not that I blame them. I don't always wanna talk about that shit, either. Sometimes, though, I have to if I ever wanna get it off my mind. It sucks, but it is what it is I guess.

"You don't have to talk about it," Al tells him quietly. Dada smiles weakly.

"I know that, Al," Dad assures me. "But sometimes it makes us feel better when we talk about things like that." I nod.

"But you don't wanna, right?" I question.

"That's right," Dada says quietly. "At least, not right now."

"I hate dreams like that," I mumble.

"I think everybody does," Dad says.

"I don't know," Al says and I look at him. "Sometimes vivid dreams are good. Sometimes I have these dreams were Mom's still alive. Nothing bad happens, she's just… there. I mean, I'm sad when they're over, but not because it was scary. I'm just sad 'cause she's not really there." I stare at him.

"You have dreams like that?" I ask.

"Sometimes," Al answers. "I don't remember a lot about Mom, but I guess I remember enough that I dream she's alive and it feels real."

"I guess that's a good vivid dream," I say. "I wouldn't know. I never can remember good dreams and my vivid dreams are never good ones." Dad shakes his head and we keep driving, nobody feeling like talking anymore.

We picked up Granny and Winry and drove to the movie theater. It only has two screens and since we went around lunch time there weren't a lot of people there. That's about the only way Al will go out to see a movie. He gets too anxious most of the time to do much of anything, movies included. I know he wishes that he could do things like a normal person, and while he can do more things than he could a couple years ago, he just isn't in that place right now. We got popcorn and stuff and found seats, getting there just in time for the previews. Nothing particularly interesting was advertised, though we did see a trailer for Captain America: Civil War, so that was pretty cool. I have a feeling that Al will wanna see that for his birthday since that comes out in May. Anyway, the movie started and it ended up being pretty funny. Sure, it was kind of a kiddie movie, but Kung Fu Panda has always been pretty good. I still think the second one is the best one, though. Now that the movie's over, we're going to Winry's house so I can open presents and we'll eat. It's kinda early for dinner, but by the time we're done talking and opening presents, it'll probably be time for dinner, cake, and ice cream.

We get to Winry's and we all go inside. Granny's grumbling about something while me, Al, Dada, and Winry go to the living room. Granny's gonna bring my presents into the living room. I sit on the couch with Al and Winry, Dada getting drinks ready. He comes in with some soda and milk and hands it to everyone. The milk's for Al. He likes soda, but he'd rather have milk. I've never really understood how Al can like that nasty stuff, but he does. Dada makes small talk with us until Granny comes in with a couple of presents. She sets them down on the coffee table and sits down next to Dada.

"Okay, Ed," Granny says, "Get cracking, kiddo." I grin and grab a bag.

"You guys really don't have to get me presents every year," I comment. Granny smirks.

"Then I guess I'll take these back, half-pint," Granny teases.

"Well, since you've already wrapped these up so nicely I think I'll keep them," I reply. I open the bag and pull out a couple of shirts. They're some nerdy shirts. There's a Pokémon one, an Avengers one, and this freaking sweet one with Reptar for the Rugrats. Plus, the material's super soft and I like that. My skin's sensitive because of everything that happened so I don't like scratchy materials.

"Can I see, Ed?" Dad asks. I nod and hand him the bag with the shirts inside, Winry handing me the next present.

"This one's from me, chemistry-freak," Winry tells me.

"Can't be as good as what Al got me," I comment.

"You mean that mug he made?" Winry asks. I nod and she says, "Yeah, it's probably not that good but I think you'll like it." I chuckle and open it, Winry leaning over so she can get a good look at my face when I see the present for the first time. I pull it out, and gasp.

"No way!" I cry happily.

"What is it?" Al asks.

"It's Fear the Walking Dead season one!" I say happily, holding the box set up so Dada can see.

"Is that different from The Walking Dead?" Dad asks, confused.

"Yeah, but it's all in the same universe," I explain. "You and me can watch it sometime, Dada."

"That's a nice box set, Brother," Al comments. I smirk at Winry.

"So, it's not as good as Al's gift but it's pretty good," I tell Winry, setting the box set down next to me. There's just one present left. It's a box that's all nicely wrapped. I pick it up and open it. It's a LEGO set that goes with the Star Wars one Dad got me so I have the full set now.

"Thanks, Granny," I say. "Thanks, Winry."

"You're welcome," Granny says, standing. "Guess I should get dinner started."

"Hold on, Pinako," Dada says, standing to. "Let's bring out the violins. It's been so long since you and I fiddled." I get excited as Granny shakes her head.

"Oh, I don't know, Hohenheim," she replies. "It's been so long since you've played. You sure you still can?" Dad chuckles.

"I can play, Pinako," he laughs.

"You mean you have your violin here, Dada?" I ask eagerly.

"I brought it special for your birthday," Dad tells me. I grin ear to ear, Al squirming excitedly in his seat.

"Yay!" Al cheers. "It's been too long! You haven't played since before Christmas."

"It really has been too long," I agree. "Are you gonna battle?"

"Maybe," Dad replies, going to get his violin. Granny joins him and soon, they are tuning their violins.

"Hey, Ed," Winry says, "Didn't you play violin for, like, a week when we were kids?" I nod.

"Yeah," I answer. "Mama had me and Al do piano for a couple years and when we got older, we both said we wanted to try strings. Dada payed for lessons for a while, but she sorta convinced him we hated it when we didn't. God, I wish I could play. That'd be so cool."

"I've always wished I was musical," Winry comments. "I mean, I can sing a little, but I've always wanted to play an instrument. Can you still play piano?" I shrug.

"Not really," I say honestly. "I was never very good at either instrument, but I liked to learn. Al got pretty good at piano, but didn't play cello long enough to get good at it."

"I can still play a little," Al adds. "And I can still read music so I could probably pick piano back up whenever. I just don't know if I could do lessons right now with my anxiety the way it is."

"Okay," Dad says, his violin in playing position. "You kids ready?" We all nod eagerly and Dada starts to play.

Dad's played violin most of his life. Papa got him private lessons when he was a kid and Dad learned classical violin. He played in an orchestra for most of his childhood, but discovered that he had a true passion for fiddling when he was a teenager. When we were little kids, Dada played all the time since Mom loved to hear him play. When she died, though, Dad kinda quit playing. She didn't really like the violin, so when she was around he hardly played then either. He still doesn't play much anymore, but sometimes he'll play with the college's community orchestra when his class load isn't too heavy. He's actually pretty good, especially when he fiddles. That's why I've always wanted to really learn to play violin. I've always wanted to fiddle with Dada and maybe even do dueling fiddles the way he and Granny do. That would be so awesome.

Dada and Granny played for a while before Granny decided she really needed to get dinner started. Dad put his violin away and talked to the three of us until dinner was ready. We mostly talked about school but what else is there to talk about? School's kinda our whole world right now. That's what sucks about being a kid. There's not much else to talk about with people but school. And since Dad's a teacher, that's about all he has to talk about, too. We ate dinner together, Granny teasing Dada about his poor cooking skills. Every time we eat at Granny's she always asks how me and Al are even alive considering that we eat out constantly. After dinner, we have cake and ice cream, laughing and teasing each other. Mom, of course, is brought up and we even talk about Aunt Sarah and Uncle Urey. When they were all alive, birthdays were spent together. Mom and Dad loved birthdays and Winry's parents just liked making us happy. Even though they aren't here, when we're all together and spending time together, it's almost like they are here. I can hear Uncle Urey making lame jokes with Dada and the snap of Aunt Sarah's fancy camera. I can hear Mom's contented sighs as she looks at everyone's happy faces; her willingness to serve everyone and make everyone's day the best one they've ever had written all over her face.

I sigh, my ice cream melting a little. I miss Mom. I've tried not to think about it today since it was my birthday celebration and I didn't want to bum everyone out. But I miss Mom. She always went out of her way to make my birthday special. Mama always got the best decorations, cooked all my favorite foods, and always made my birthday cake from scratch. Dada can't bake so he bought me one. And it's fine. It tastes fine, but it's not Mom's cake. Nothing could ever be Mom's cake. Everyone around me is laughing, talking about past birthdays. Al glances over at me, his face getting all worried.

"Brother?" Al asks softly. I smile at him.

"Sorry," I apologize. "My mind's on Mom." Everyone looks at me.

"Oh," Al sighs. Dada shakes his head and Winry smiles sadly at me.

"Your mom would want you to eat that ice cream before it melts all over the place," Winry tells me. "Aunt Trisha hated sticky surfaces more than anything." I laugh.

"Yeah, you're right," I reply.

"Shame you spent 90% of your early childhood sticky, Ed," Granny teases, Al giggling.

"Aww, c'mon," I complain jokingly, "It's my birthday." Dada smiles at me and I imagine that Mom's sitting next to him. She smiles at me and says,

"Happy birthday, Little Man." I smile back and imaginary Mom fades away. I do miss Mama, but I know that she'd want me to be happy. And Winry's right; Mom would want me to eat all that ice cream before it melts all over the table.


	46. Baby Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the boys should get Dr. Hughes and Gracia a baby names book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a bit of self-harm talk as well as some talk of suicide and bullying in this chapter. Just a head's up.

After my birthday dinner with Granny and Winry the weekend really flew by. It's still kinda early in the semester so we didn't have a lot of homework. We mostly watched Netflix, but it was pretty boring. Last night wasn't horrible by our standards and like every Monday, we're sitting in our IHOP eating our pancakes. We have therapy today after school but I don't know what to talk about. I play with my food, my mind on Gracia's baby. I think it's coming soon. When we found out she was gonna have a baby, she was, like, three months along. I think that's right. It's February so it's getting close to the month that she'd have the baby if she really was three months pregnant back in October. I look over at Dad, his eyes glued to his phone. I sigh; I really hate when Dada uses his phone during meals. I also really hate the early weeks of a semester. His j-term class ended about two weeks ago and the normal spring semester started just a couple days after j-term ended. Dad is really busy during the first month or so of a new semester. He has to deal with people adding late, dropping and withdrawing from his classes, and shit like that. People are constantly emailing him and…. I sigh loudly. I wish he'd just put his phone away.

"Dada?" Al asks. I glance over at him and Dad sets his phone on the table.

"What's up, Al?" Dad replies in question.

"We need to get Ms. Gracia and Dr. Hughes a present for their new baby before he's born," Al says.

"It's a boy?" I ask, surprised that Al would know that. Al grins and shrugs.

"I don't know," Al admits. "It just feels like the baby is a boy." I smile at him and Dad nods.

"I think getting a present for the baby is a great idea," Dada says. Al smiles proudly and Dad goes on, "We'll ask Dr. Hughes what the gender of the baby is and get a present for them before the baby's born."

"Okay," Al hums happily.

"What kind of presents do you buy for a baby that little?" I ask.

"Oh, sleepers, bibs, soft blankets… that sort of thing." Dad tells me.

"D'you think they need that stuff since the baby's coming soon?" I ask.

"They do, trust me," Dada laughs. "You always think you have enough clothes and bottles and things like that but you never do. Babies grow so fast and diapers aren't fail-proof and kids tend to spill things constantly. You never have enough of anything when it comes to babies."

"Babies are gross," I comment.

"Just a bit," Dad agrees.

"Babies aren't gross," Al protests. "They're only babies."

"They poop and puke all over everything," I point out.

"They do?" Al questions.

"Oh, Al," Dada sighs. "Of course they do. But that gross stuff never seems to matter when you have a baby of your own."

"I bet you thought babies were super gross before you had some," I tease. "Considering you were anti-kids even after you married Mom." Dad laughs and takes a bite of his eggs.

"Very perceptive," Dada teases right back. "Yes, I definitely thought kids were nasty little creatures. Sometimes, I still do." I lean over and shove him lightly.

"Oh, shut up," I instruct. Dada laughs and looks at his phone.

"Oh, it's late," he announces. "We need to get going." Al and I nod and stand up, Al finishing his glass of milk as we walk out of the restaurant. Dada paid a while ago so we can leave whenever we want. We get in the car and I wonder if Dr. Hughes and Gracia's baby is a boy or a girl. I bet Dr. Hughes probably wants a boy since he has a girl already, but who knows? I look at Dada and quickly ask,

"Did you want boy babies or girl babies?" Dad slides his eyes over to me and smiles weakly.

"Well, I before I wanted to have a baby I knew you were a boy," he tells me. "Remember, I didn't truly want to have babies until I saw your face in a sonogram in late November of 1999. But, when we got pregnant so soon after you were born, Ed, I did want a girl. Little dresses, glitter everywhere, fairy wings and tea parties sounded very appealing. But we lost that baby pretty quickly and when Mom miscarried the baby was so little that we couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl." Dad swallows and Al leans forward slightly.

"Dada…. Didn't you and Mama name it?" Al asks.

"Yes," Dada replies softly. "Since we didn't know the gender, we picked a neutral name for them. We decided to call the baby Jamie, partially after Trisha's father but mostly because it's a nice neutral name. So, when Mom got pregnant again, I was secretly hoping for a girl again, but was thrilled at the same time when I learned we were having a boy."

"If Al was a girl, what would his name be?" I ask, curious.

"Alice Jane," Dada says instantly. "I really wanted an A.J. That's why he's Alphonse Jacob."

"Actually, he's Alphonse Jacob Ulrich von Hohenheim-Elric," I correct.

"And Brother's Edward James von Hohenheim-Elric," Al pipes in.

"Named after Mom's father as well," Dada says, pulling up to school. He parks, looking back at Al who looks concerned. "What's the matter, Al?"

"D'you ever miss Jamie?" Al asks innocently. I blink and look over at Dada. Does he? I mean, I know that was still his baby but it never got very big and it's not like Dad knew that baby for real. What a weird question.

"Huh," Dada laughs lightly. "Sometimes, I do. But I guess what I'm really feeling is longing for Jamie to still be alive. Having three kids instead of two. I don't know, really. It's weird because I never really truly met that baby but I feel like I did." Dada shakes his head, sniffling slightly. He wipes his nose quickly and smiles sadly. "Anyway, I'll see you after school, boys." He kisses us both and I open the door.

"Bye, Dada," I say cheerfully. I get out, noticing Al's still in the car. I shut the door, watching as Al crawls into the front seat and gives Dad a big hug. Dada hugs Al back, his face lowering into Al's shoulder. I stand there, Al comforting Dada in the car.

"Ed!" I turn, Winry hurrying over to me.

"Hey," I greet, Winry grinning. She looks around and her brow furrows.

"Where's Al?" She asks. I gesture with my head to the car and she looks. Winry gasps a little and worriedly asks, "What's the matter? Is everything okay?" I shrug.

"We had a fun conversation on the way to school about the baby Mom and Dad lost in between me and Al," I tell her. "Its name is Jamie. I never knew that." Winry sighs sadly.

"Sounds like a fun topic," Winry mutters. I huff.

"You could say that," I agree. Winry peers into the car and glances back at me.

"Is Uncle Victor okay?" She asks anxiously. I shrug, my eyes glued on the car.

"Beats me," I reply. "Dad can be hard to read." Winry nods.

"Grandma calls it 'reserved'," Winry comments. She looks back at the car and says, "Still, I bet you can read how he feels about losing a child." I swallow, the hug between Dada and Al finally ending.

"I guess," I answer softly, Al finally getting out of the car. He says good-bye to Dad and waves as Dad pulls away.

"Is Uncle Victor alright?" Winry asks Al. He nods.

"He just needed a hug, that's all," Al replies cheerfully. He starts walking toward the school and I quickly follow behind him.

"He didn't start crying, did he?" I ask. Al nods again.

"Yeah, but just a little," Al answers, Winry and I exchanging worried glances. "I think he tries not to let us see how much things like that bother him."

"Why not?" I ask, curious to see what Al thinks is the reason Dad is the way he is.

"Well," Al begins, putting his hands on his hips and pausing in front of the stairs leading to the front doors, "I guess it's 'cause he feels like he needs to be strong for you and me all the time. When Mom died, I remember he cried when it happened, but never cried again, not even at her funeral. When we were little, I'd get scared at night and when I'd go to sleep with Dada, I'd hear him crying by himself but he'd stop as soon as I got there. I guess he didn't want us to worry about him so he could take care of us better."

"Grown-ups," I sigh, shaking my head. "We don't need to be taken care of all the time."

"Well, no, but he's still your dad," Winry points out. "He's always gonna feel like he's gotta take care of you." I shrug.

"I guess," I agree softly, walking up the stairs. Winry laughs softly and I turn my head toward her. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she replies. I shoot her a look and she rolls her eyes. "Ugh, fine. I was just thinking how funny it'd be if there were three of you guys and not just the two of you."

"Why's that funny?" I demand.

"I don't know," she answers. "Three Elric brothers instead of just two just seems like the kind of thing that would cause just enough chaos in the world that would be funny." She shrugs and I stare blankly at her.

"Three brothers?" Al questions lightly. "My money's on the baby being a girl." Winry shakes her head.

"No way," she disagrees. "Totally a boy. Your mom was really good at making boys."

"She only for sure made two!" Al argues. "That's not enough evidence to form a trend!"

"You nerd," Winry teases.

"I think it was a girl, too," I add, Al gesturing toward me dramatically.

"See?" Al cries. "Elric brother telepathy! It totally was a girl!"

"But Elric brother telepathy has nothing to do with proving the gender of the baby unless the baby was a boy," Winry points out, laughing as someone taps my shoulder. I turn to find Ling falling into to stride with me, Al and Winry.

"Baby?" He questions.

"Oh, there's no baby," I inform him. His brow furrows and I explain, "My mom miscarried in between Al and me and Al and Winry are arguing over if it was a boy or a girl and if Elric brother telepathy could determine that. I think it was a girl, but whatever."

"I didn't know your mom had a miscarriage," Ling says. I shrug.

"We don't really talk about it," I reply lightly. "It happened a long time ago and the baby was so tiny so, you know, no big deal." Ling looks upset for some reason and I ask, "Is something the matter?" He shrugs.

"I think my parents are gonna split up," he says quietly. I pause, Winry and Al still arguing over Elric brother telepathy and stand in front of him.

"Woah," I breath. "Really?" He nods.

"I mean, it's not like my parents really love each other," he tells me. "I've known they more or less just tolerate each other but…. I don't know. My dad was bragging about cheating on my mom and…."

"I'm sorry, dude," I tell him. "That sucks." I cringe internally. That sucks? That's the best I can come up with?! I mean, this is Ling! He knows about the abuse and is going through something really shitty at home and all I can say is that sucks?! What is wrong with me?! I shake my head and quickly say, "God, sorry." Ling chuckles softly.

"It's fine," he assures me. "I don't know what I would say if things were reversed." Al and Winry are really far ahead now, pausing when they realize we aren't following behind them. Ling starts walking and I follow him, Ling saying, "I always knew you and Al were telepathic." I laugh.

"We might as well be," I agree lightly. "I've always known what's going through Al's head, even when we were really little." He chuckles.

"Maybe someday you'll be able to read people's minds like in the X-Men," Ling says, Winry and Al waiting for us.

"Morning, Ling," Winry greets cheerfully. Al waves weakly, and we keep walking toward class.

"Did you have a good weekend, Win?" Ling asks Winry. She nods.

"Yeah," she replies. "Ed, Al, and I went to see Kung Fu Panda 3 on Saturday with their dad and my grandma. It was really funny. How was the dance?" Ling shrugs.

"The dance was just the typical stupid dance," Ling explains. "The fun stuff was at the party I went to with Lan Fan after that. I drank so much I can't remember whose house I went to." I look down at the ground briefly. So. That's why Ling's drinking so much. His parents are splitting up. When I was thirteen and my life was a real shit-show, I sorta wanted to drink so much that I'd forget how shitty my life was. I never did, but I did so something arguably worse than that. I cut and set fires, but I never really forgot how terrible I felt. If anything, I just felt worse. I can tell that Ling feels worse, even if drinking made him feel better in the moment. I scratch at my arm instinctively, the urge to cut swelling up in me as my mind goes to a dark place. I shake my head, making it to Al's class.

"You okay?" Al asks me, Winry and Ling staring. I swallow hard and smile weakly, trying not to worry Al.

"Yup," I reply. "See you at lunch." Al gives me a look, clearly not convinced that I'm fine, but he doesn't say anything. He waves weakly and says,

"See you," he says, walking in. Winry shoots me a look and I ignore her, walking toward my class.

"Uh, are you okay?" Winry asks, hurrying to walk next to me. I nod, Ling staring at me.

"I'm fine," I say, trying to sound as natural as possible. I tug at my hoodie sleeves, the urge to cut overpowering my brain. I don't want to do that. I don't want to. I don't want to. Think about what it does to Al. To Dada. Make Dr. Hughes proud. I don't wanna cut. Fuck, except that I do. God, I wanna. If I did it, just this once, I'd never ever do it again. I shake my head, saying my list in my head. Trisha Elric. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. Alphonse Jacob Ulrich von Hohenheim-Elric. Pinako Rockbell. Winry Rockbell. 1914 Central Court. Uh…. Chemistry. Reading. Harry Potter. Cutting. No, not cutting. That doesn't go in my list. My heart's pounding, old plans for self-harm I had formulated as a thirteen-year-old kid filling my brain. Just pick until I bleed. Sneak into Dada's room and steal his fancy razor. Scissors. School has scissors everywhere.

"Hey," Ling says softly and I blink rapidly.

"Huh?" I ask, trying to calm myself down.

"You like nerdy board games, right?" Ling asks.

"Well, what's a nerdy board game?" I reply in question. "I mean, I don't play D and D or anything."

"I mean, like, Settlers of Catan or Marvel Legendary," Ling clarifies. I lick my lips and nods.

"Uh, well, yeah," I answer. "I like games like that. Why?"

"Well, I was just thinking of non-binge drinking ways we could all hang out together," Ling tells me. "Since a majority of our friends are nerds, I figured we could have a nerdy game night." He shrugs. "I don't know. Might be fun." I nod.

"Yeah, uh, I like that," I reply, hoping I sound genuine. 'Cause I really do wanna do that. But my mind is stuck on cutting so it's really hard for me to make anything sound genuine.

"I really like that," Winry adds enthusiastically. "I own Marvel Legendary and I have a couple other games like that Plague board game. We need to pick a night and start doing it."

"Great," Ling chirps as we make it to me and Winry's class. "See you guys at lunch." I wave and Winry replies,

"Bye." Ling walks away and Winry quickly turns to face me. "You're really freaking me out. Are you actually okay?" I shake my head, my stupid chin quivering as that dumb lump forms in my throat. I gesture for her to get closer and she does so I whisper,

"I wanna cut." Winry gasps and pulls away, concern on her face.

"Dude," she says worriedly. "Ed, why? You haven't cut in, like, two years."

"I, uh, well," I struggle. Ling didn't tell me it was okay to tell Winry that his parents are splitting up. I don't think I can tell her. But I can't really tell her why I wanna cut so bad without explaining that it was Ling's comment about drinking in context to his parent's breaking up that's making me wanna cut. God, I just wanna slice my skin open and forget all this. No, no I don't! Stop thinking that way!

"Ed?" Winry presses anxiously.

"It's complicated," I reply breathlessly. "I'll, uh, just talk to Dr. Hughes about it later."

"Okay," Winry says, her voice shaking, "But, Ed, please don't do anything. Please." I nod, licking my lips. We walk into class and I can't shake the feeling of barf rising up in me for the rest of the day.

The urge to hurt myself does die down as school goes on, but I feel sick all day as I battle silently with myself. Winry never mentions the cutting again which I'm grateful for. I can't handle talking about most of the time, especially when the urge hits. I don't feel like I need to cut very often. Usually, it strikes when I'm thinking about the abuse or sometimes when Al talks about how he's cutting. At home, I can just do the alternatives Dr. Hughes gave to me and it goes away. At school, though, I really can't. I can't rip up paper or color or rub ice on my skin at school. And what really sucks is that today's Monday so I really won't be able to get my fix until after therapy. The final bell rings and I hurry to my locker. I've been scratching at my arms all day, trying to dig into my skin and trying not to at the same time. I grab the stuff I need from my locker and practically run to Al's. Al isn't here yet, but as I get closer to the locker I notice a note stuck in the door. Self-harm gets pushed to the back of my mind as I pull the note out, curious as to what it could be. I know I really shouldn't read notes meant for other people, even when the person is my baby brother, but no one ever leaves Al notes like this. I hate to admit it, but outside of our friends, Al really doesn't have any friends. His whole class remembers how he was during and immediately after the abuse, constantly calling him "Pee-Pants" and some other really nasty things. Since Al mostly keeps to himself, no one has ever left a note in his locker before. I'm honestly kinda scared it's something mean so I wanna see what it is and get rid of it in case it is something that would hurt Al's feelings. I open the note and start to read, my heart slowing down as my hands start shaking:

Why haven't you just slit your throat and killed yourself already?

What the hell?! I stare at the note, unable to believe that someone would write something that awful to anybody. Who the hell wrote this? Was it Ryan Vaus? Was it someone else? I knew people were bullying Al this year, but people have always bullied Al. Have they been telling him to kill himself all year and Al never told anyone? That would explain where Al's feelings of self-harm and suicide came from. I mean, Al's been in a low place for a while, but even at his lowest after the abuse ended, those terrible things never seemed to even cross his mind. Is peer pressure and horrible bullying pushing Al to do these terrible things? Did these people help start these horrible thoughts in my poor brother's head?

"Ed?" I blink and look up, Al staring at me. His hazel eyes drift to the note and he asks, "What's that?"

"Uh," I vocalize, not sure what I should say. I mean, it'd be wrong of me to hide the note, right? I honestly don't know. I lick my lips, bubbles threatening to trap my words, and I say, "It's a mean note someone left for you." Al's eyes get sad and I gently ask, "This isn't the first one you've gotten, is it?" My brother shakes his head and sniffles loudly.

"No," he admits quietly. I put the note in my pocket and pull Al into a hug, his shaking limbs wrapping around me. I want to ask why Al hasn't said anything, but that's not really important right now. What's important right now is making Al feel safe so he knows that even though it feels like more people want him dead than alive, that the people who love him mean more than all the bullies who are telling him to kill himself.

"It's okay," I whisper, Al whimpering. "It's okay. These kids are losers for writing stuff like this to you."

"I-I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Al apologizes, his voice shaking. "I just didn't know how to. I sh-should h-have told you a-and Dada wh-when it first started. I'm sorry, Brother." I pat his back.

"It's okay," I assure him. "I understand." Al sniffles and I squeeze him tighter. "C'mon, we need to go." He nods and I end the hug. We walk to the front door, Al shaking nervously. I sigh, wondering if the bullying will ever end. Kids are really mean. I've known that my whole life. But Al's been dealing with this shit since the first grade. I mean, we're in high school now. Kids shouldn't be teasing Al for what happened in elementary and middle school. We make it outside and I scan the pick-up lane for Dada's car. The silver hatch-back is already there and I grab Al's hand. We hurry to the car and get in, Dad smiling at us.

"How was school?" He asks, driving out of the parking lot. I shrug, tugging at my sleeves again.

"Fine," I say quickly.

"It was okay," Al tells him softly. "I, uh…. Somebody left a note for me telling me to kill myself." Dad stops suddenly at a stop light, his eyes growing wide as he turns back toward Al. Al keeps talking, ignoring Dad's shocked look, "This isn't the first one. I've gotten them all year." Al chuckles darkly and goes on, "I guess they thought they needed to up their game this year."

"Oh, my God, honey," Dad says, the car lurching forward, "Have you told anyone? Have you talked to Ms. Hawkeye or your guidance counselor?" Al shakes his head.

"No," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Sweetie, don't apologize," Dad tells him. "I understand. It's never easy to talk about things like that. But, Alphie, I hope you know that you can tell me anything. It's okay to tell me things, sweetheart." Al nods, wiping his nose on his hand.

"I know, I'm sorry," Al apologizes sadly. Dada smiles sadly at him.

"Don't apologize, honey," Dad tells him. "I can call Ms. Hawkeye tomorrow and talk to her about it if you want." Al nods.

"Yeah, okay," Al replies. "I wanna tell her but I get too scared." I lean back in my seat, Dada nodding.

"I know, I know," Dad says, driving toward Dr. Hughes' office.

"You're scared of a lot of things," I mutter, staring at the window. "I'm scared of a lot of things, too. It's annoying."

"It's not annoying, Ed, it's natural," Dada tells me gently. "I mean, I know I would be scared if I went through what you boys went through."

"Don't feed me that shit, Dada," I snap. "You've been through bad shit, too. Everyone has. It's no excuse for acting like a kicked puppy all the time."

"Ed," Dad sighed. "I am well aware that everyone goes through bad times. All I'm saying is that what happens afterword is normal. It's normal to have PTSD, emotional issues, and trouble connecting with other people. That's what trauma does to people. What you boys are going through is completely normal. It's not fun or ideal, but it's normal." I roll my eyes, crossing my arms in a pout.

"Whatever," I grumble. Dada sighs again and shakes his head.

"We should get the baby a blanket," Al cuts in randomly. "So he won't get cold." Dad smiles and I scoff lightly, feeling a little better.

"That's a great idea, honey," Dada praises. "Blankets are great baby gifts." Al smiles broadly and I chuckle weakly.

"Sorry, Dad," I say quietly. Dad pats my shoulder as the car slows down and grins at me.

"It's okay," he replies lightly. "It's normal." I glare playfully at him, Dad laughing as he pulls away from the stop light.

We make it to the office and like always, Dada checks us both in. He does his mom-talk, we play with the kids, and Dr. Hughes calls us back to his office. We talk a bit about the bullying going on with Al and as we talk about that, I know I'll have to talk about that whole cutting-thing from this morning. I mean, that's why I was in such a pissy mood in the car. Wanting to cut all day long really killed my mood. Al seems to be having a hard time finding the words to say, though. He's squirming a bit, Dr. Hughes catching on to how upset the topic is making him. Al's twisting his jacket in his hands nervously, Dr. Hughes quickly writing down something on his clipboard he always has when we have a session.

"You said this has been going on all year?" Dr. Hughes asks. Al nods.

"Pretty much," Al replies. "I knew high school wasn't gonna be any better than middle school but I guess I was hoping the bullies would leave me alone this year." He shrugs and sniffles loudly. "But why would they?"

"Al, the first thing you need to do is remember that people who treat you poorly are not a reflection of who you are," Dr. Hughes tells him. "Them bullying you is a reflection of who they are. We've talked about how your tender and gentle nature encourages bullies because they know you won't stand up for yourself or tell a teacher what is going on. The last few months, we've been working on trying to build your confidence and I feel like we've made some progress. Al, tell me one thing your brother admires about you that makes you feel good about yourself."

"Uh, well, Brother says I give good hugs," Al says.

"Okay, and why does that make you feel good about yourself?" Dr. Hughes asks. Al frowns in thought and shrugs.

"I guess 'cause it makes other people happy and that's something I like to do," Al answers. "I like making other people happy and I like knowing that maybe I'm good at that."

"I think you're very good at making others happy and I think that's a wonderful trait to have," Dr. Hughes says with a smile. "Now, what I want you to try to do is to tell a teacher or other adult at your school that this is going on and when you do it, I want you to remember how it makes you feel when Ed tells you you're a good hugger. I think having that feeling will make it easier on you to tell an adult what's going on." Al nods.

"I'll try," Al tells him and I grin. Good boy, Al. Just last month, I doubt Al would have told Dr. Hughes that he would even try to tell an adult what's going on. Even though Al doesn't see it, he really has gotten better.

"Very good, I'm proud of you," Dr. Hughes praises. Al grins happily and Dr. Hughes asks, "Anything else on your minds, boys?" I nod.

"I wanted to cut today," I tell him softly.

"Why?" Dr. Hughes asks. "Do you know what triggered that?" I shrug.

"I think it was Ling talking about his parents and how he drinks to cope with stuff and my brain just jumped there," I explain. "It's all I could think about all day at school and I still kinda want to."

"What was it about what Ling said that caused you to think that way?" Dr. Hughes questions.

"Um," I vocalize, thinking, "I guess it just reminded me of how terrible I always it made me feel while feeling so good at the same time. God, I really wanna cut right now, but I know better." Dr. Hughes smiles weakly at me.

"You have come so far, Ed," Dr. Hughes tells me. "A year ago you probably would have found a way to cut but you haven't and I'm so proud. Are there any alternatives you can do right here in my office?" I frown in thought.

"I could draw on my arm, if that's okay," I reply. Dr. Hughes nods and hands me a red pen.

"Go crazy," Dr. Hughes says, Al squirming in his seat.

"Oh, Dr. Hughes," Al says excitedly, "We're gonna get your baby a blanket. Is he a boy or a girl?" Dr. Hughes chuckles and shakes his head.

"Gracia wanted to wait and tell you herself, but I think I'll jump the gun a little," Dr. Hughes laughs, pulling out his wallet. He takes out what I assume is a sonogram picture and shows it to us. He points to a little circle and asks, "See that?" I squint, no longer running the pen across my arm.

"What am I looking at?" I ask. Dr. Hughes laughs again.

"Look closely," Dr. Hughes tells me. I elbow Al lightly and ask,

"What the hell d'you think that is? A hand?" Al shakes his head, giggling slightly. I look at him. "What?" Al leans over close and covers his mouth with his hand so Dr. Hughes can't see.

"It's a penis," Al whispers. He looks back over at Dr. Hughes as my eyes widen.

"It's a boy!" I cry excitedly. "You're gonna have a boy!" Dr. Hughes smiles and nods.

"That's right," he says, handing me the sonogram picture.

"He's so tiny," I breathe.

"I was only a little bigger than that when I was born," Al comments.

"We're hoping this little dude can make it longer than six months in Gracia's tummy," Dr. Hughes tells him.

"Name?" I ask eagerly.

"We've narrowed it down to two," Dr. Hughes says. "Emilio and Anthony."

"If you named him Emilio you could do an 'E' theme for all your kids," Al comments lightly. "That'd be kinda neat."

"Why Emilio?" I ask.

"If he was a girl, we'd be naming him Emma so we wanted a name that was similar," Dr. Hughes says. "So, you guys are gonna get him a blanket?" Al nods eagerly.

"Yeah!" Al cries. "We'll pick out something really nice and soft that'll keep him warm."

"Would you boys like to come over for dinner tomorrow night and give the blanket it Gracia and the baby then?" Dr. Hughes asks. "It's been so long since you boys have been over to eat with us." Al nods excitedly and I grin at him.

"Sounds good, Dr. Hughes," I reply. "We'll have to ask Dada, but I'm sure he'll say yes."

"I have a question to ask you, Ed," Dr. Hughes says. My brow furrows and I ask,

"What's up?"

"Still wanna cut?" Dr. Hughes asks. I smile weakly and shake my head.

"No," I reply proudly. "I don't."


	47. Baby Gets His Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for blankets!

Tuesdays are still shelter volunteer days. Al basically went to the shelter with Mei all Christmas break and has been going all spring semester so far. I haven't gone with him in months, Al finally able to go all by himself. It's probably kinda stupid, but I'm really proud of him. I mean, a year ago he wouldn't have been able to do anything like that at all but now he can. Mei doesn't know that, though, so I can't get too mushy when I say goodbye to Al when he goes to the shelter with Mei's mom every Tuesday after school. All I can do is feel my chest puff out a little as I watch him go, Al finally on the path to being a normal kid again. Dada and I are on our way to pick him up from the shelter now. We are gonna go to Wal-Mart after so we can get Dr. Hughes' baby his blanket before we go over to his house for dinner. Kinda like with Teacher, we eat over at the Hughes' house sometimes. Lately, though, we haven't been very good about eating with either of them recently. Teacher's really busy, though, with Wyatt and our lives have all been kinda busy but I miss seeing her all the time. That's part of why I wanna start taking martial arts again, but I don't think Dada's ever gonna budge on that one.

We make it to the shelter and pick up Al and Mei. Mei talks the whole way to her house and asks us what our plans are tonight. We tell her we're going to see some friends of ours to give their baby a present and eat dinner with them. Mei almost seems disappointed, like she wanted me and Al to hang out with her, but she doesn't say anything. She gets out of the car and Dada watches her go inside before driving away from the house. He drives toward Wal-Mart, gasping a little when we get to a stop light. I glance over at him, my brow furrowed, and ask,

"What?"

"This week is home visit week," Dada says, kinda panicked. "I completely forgot." I groan softly. We have a social worker that checks in on us every couple months. Her name is Candice Davis and she's a really nice lady who's got the softest black skin that always smells like lotion. I like her, but home visits really stress me out. I'm always scared that she's gonna decide that Dada's an unfit parent and take me and Al away again. It wasn't her fault two years ago when we had to go to the foster homes, but I associate all that with her.

"Did she give you a day?" Al asks curiously.

"It's Friday but it was such short notice like always," Dada replies. "I'll just have to get the house clean before she pops in. It's sort of a disaster right now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, there's a lot of dishes, Dada," I agree. "Is the dishwasher broken or something?" Dad chuckles softly.

"No, I just haven't had the energy lately to load and run it," Dad tells me. "There's been a lot going on."

"I should change Picard's litter box, then," Al decides. "I scoop it every day, but I haven't changed the litter in forever."

"And we should take out the trash," I add. "That's starting to get real stanky."

"Okay, boys," Dad says, almost like he's upset we're adding on to the list of things that need to be done at home. "That's enough. There's a lot to do, I know, but I'll get it all done."

"You didn't last time," I point out. "Was Mrs. Davis mad or something?" Dada shakes his head as he turns into the Wal-Mart parking lot.

"No, not angry," Dad replies. "I think she was worried that this single parenting thing was finally starting to really take a toll on me. I think she was worried I was overwhelmed and in over my head which is why she's visiting so soon after the last home visit." I nod, anxiety beginning to claw at my belly. Overwhelmed? In over his head? What the hell does that mean?

"Is she gonna take us away again?" Al asks, obviously on the verge of tears. I quickly look at Dad, scared that may be the case. Why else would Mrs. Davis be visiting so soon? She must thing Dada is an unfit parent now and wants to take us away! I start breathing funny, Dada sighing sadly beside me.

"Oh, God, no, Al," Dad says gently. "No. Mrs. Davis just wants to make sure we're all okay, that's all. She knows how hard life has been for all of us the last two years and when she saw how disorganized and messy our house was last time she probably just wants to make sure everything's fine."

"B-But everything's n-not f-f-fine," I stutter, more anxious than I've felt in a long time. "W-We're all a-a m-mess, D-D-Dada. Wh-What if sh-she d-d-decides you c-c-can't take c-c-care of us?" My chin quivers, my throat tightening up and tears pricking in my eyes.

"Ed, honey," Dad says gently as I begin to wheeze. Oh, God, I can't breathe. I can't breathe! My lungs aren't working! They won't work! I can't breathe! My chest heaves, my body breaking out in a cold sweat as panic overtakes my whole body. We're gonna get taken away again! We're gonna get stuck in a foster home! We're gonna be those boys who get moved all the time and never have a real family! I can't even cry, that's how panicked I am. All I can do is wheeze.

"Edward," Dada says softly. "Breathe."

"I-I-I c-c-can't," I wheeze, Al leaning closer to the front seat, clearly worried.

"Yes, you can," Dada encourages me gently. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth." I try, whimpering a little. I can't really get it, my whole body shaking.

"Sh-She's g-g-gonna t-t-take us a-away again!" I stutter loudly, gripping my hair as I continue to panic.

"Ed, baby, no she's not," Dada tells me, "Calm down, honey. It's going to be okay."

"But, Dada," Al says, a note of panic in his voice which only makes me panic more, "What if she does?"

"Boys," Dada sighs sadly and I feel the car stop. I don't know where we are. Wal-Mart? I think so? My heart really feels like I'm going to blow up and I feel like I'm gonna throw up. Maybe I will. I cough a little, still trying to breathe in through my nose and out throw my mouth but I still can't seem to get it right. "Boys, nobody is going to take you away from me. Mrs. Davis knows that I can take care of you. She is just checking in on us, that's all." I shake my head, vomit rising up in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but I can feel it coming up.

"Oh, shit," I burp, throwing up all over my lap. Al flinches behind me as I cough up puke on to my legs.

"Feel better?" Dad asks me and I shake my head.

"N-Not really," I reply, still wheezing. Dada offers me his hand and I stare at it. "Huh?"

"Hold my hand," Dad says. "It might help you breathe again." I lick my lips and my shaking hand takes Dada's steady one. He smiles at me and says, "In with your nose…."

"O-Out with m-my mouth," I finish, Dad nodding proudly.

"In with your nose," Dad says again, my heart slowing down, "Out with your mouth."

"In with my nose, out with my mouth," I repeat, shivering a little. God, it's cold. I spit more puke out of my mouth, Dada pulling me into a hug.

"Edward," Dad sighs softly. "I promise that no one is going to take you or Al away." I lay my head on his arm and sigh.

"Yeah, I know," I reply hoarsely. "I mean, I know that in my head but not in my heart, you know?" Dad nods.

"I get the idea, yeah," Dada answers. He looks up in the rearview mirror and asks, "You okay, Alphie?" Al nods.

"I'm okay," Al replies. "But Brother needs new pants." I chuckle weakly.

"Really? You think so?" I ask sarcastically. Al glares at me and leans into the front seat, pushing me away from Dada lightly.

"Shut up," I tell him, laughing. Dad tickles me a little and I squirm away from him. "Stop!"

"Why on earth would I do that, Ed?" Dada asks, continuing to tickle me. I giggle like some stupid little kid as Dad says, "Your laugh is one of the best sounds in the world, Ed." I push his hands away, laughing wildly as he tickles me all over.

"D-Dada!" I laugh, "St-Stop!" Dad chuckles and stops, allowing me to catch my breath. "You're the worst! I'm not a baby anymore!"

"No, you're not, but you are the most ticklish person I've ever met," Dad informs me. "I can just point at you and you laugh." I shake my head.

"Do not," I insist. Dada points at me and I giggle, trying to squirm away from him. Dad chuckles at me and I shake my head again. "Okay, yes, I do." I shiver, Al's brow furrowing worriedly.

"Dad, Ed's really cold," Al comments.

"Yes, honey, I know," Dad replies, "I'm trying to formulate the best way for Ed to get out of the car without vomit sliding off his lap and on to the floor of my car." Al frowns and turns toward the trunk. He leans over the back seat and pulls out a towel from the trunk.

"Maybe you could put the towel on the floor and then all the throw up would all land on the towel," Al suggests, handing the towel to Dad. Dad smiles and ruffles Al's hair.

"Very smart, Alphie," Dad praises. "This towel is so old that I can just throw it away after." Dad gets out of the car and hurries over to my side. He opens the door, the cold February air freezing me out even more. I shiver and Dada puts the towel right in front of me feet.

"I'll try to aim," I tell him, unbuckling the seatbelt. Dad shoots me a look.

"You'll have to learn eventually," Dada teases.

"Oh, sick burn, Dada," Al laughs as I glare at him.

"Ha ha," I laugh sarcastically. "I can aim, thank you very much. I perfected the technique a long time ago."

"Last week?" Dada asks, Al laughing some more.

"Maybe," I reply, crossing my arms. I shake my head and start to get out of the car. I grimace as I feel the puke slide off my lap and hear it splatter on the towel and I hurry out of the car. I turn around, pretty pleased with myself when I see that all of the puke is on the towel. I raise my hand up to Al and he gives me a high-five.

"Good one, Al," I praise, Al putting a hand on his hip.

"I have good ideas every once in a while," Al replies. Dada picks up the puke-filled towel, holds it away from his body, and quickly shoves it into a trashcan.

"Okay, let's get moving," Dad says. "We have a blanket to buy as well as some pants for Ed." I nod.

"Is it gonna stain?" I ask. Dad shrugs.

"Uh, I don't know," Dada answers. "I've never been very good at laundry."

"But our clothes always smell so good," Al points out.

"Yes, but, I've never been good at removing stains," Dad replies. "Or getting rid of wrinkles. Or folding them when they get out of the drier. I can get them clean, but I can't do anything else that laundry usually entails."

"You always have gotten puke out before," I tell him. Dada smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"Want to know a secret?" Dada asks us both. We nod and Dada says, "If your clothes have what would become a stain on them, I just take them to Pinako and she washes them for me."

"So that's why my favorite hoodie disappeared a few weeks ago when I spilled ketchup on it!" I cry, walking through the front doors. "Oh, my God, I asked you about it and you said that you were behind on the laundry, but my blanket got washed the same day after I wet the bed! Liar!"

"Well, um, you see, I just didn't want your hoodie to stain, sweetie," Dada defends quickly. "Let's just get what we need so we can get to the Hughes' house. I don't want to be late."

"The curtain has been raised, Dada," I tell him. "I know your secret."

"You were bound to find out eventually," Dada says. "I mean, did you really think that the same man who can't cook box dinners correctly was good enough at laundry that he could get stains out?"

"Well, I don't know!" I cry, walking toward the baby stuff section, Al trailing behind us with his shirt in his hands. "I figured since you can kinda make beds and kinda fold clothes that maybe you just bought the right detergent that got stains out." Dad shakes his head.

"After everything I've done wrong you boys still think of me as an adult who knows everything," Dad sighs. "I'm flattered, Ed, thank you." I blink in confusion.

"Uh, you're welcome?" I reply in question. We get to the baby stuff and Dad pauses at a shelf with a bunch of blankets folded up neatly. I inspect them all, feeling them and making sure they are soft and not scratchy. Al's standing next to me, his hand slowly reaching over to mine and grabbing it. I squeeze his hand, Dada looking through all the blankets as we all try to find the perfect one. I find a really soft, light blue one and point at it.

"What about this one, Al?" I ask him. Al nods and I pick it up. It's got cute little pastel-colored animals on it. I think it's a Noah's Ark themed blanket. It's really soft and since Al likes it, I'm sure the Hughes' will, too. I hold it up and say, "Dada, what about this one?" Dad turns and smiles.

"I think it's wonderful," Dad tells me. "Very cute."

"So, we need something to wrap it, right?" I ask.

"How come?" Al asks softly, his voice shaking. "The baby can't open it, Brother." I chuckle at him,

"Well, I guess he can't, but maybe Elicia or Mrs. Gracia will wanna open it," I answer.

"A gift bag does sound like a good idea, Ed," Dada agrees with me. "We'll head that way since we need to pick up something for you to wear anyway." I nod, Al walking closer to me.

"You okay?" I ask, knowing how stressful a store can be for him. He nods, his lips pulled into a thin line, his whole body shaking worse than usual. I frown and press, "You sure?" Al nods again, his grip on my hand tightening as we walk toward the clothes. I just want some ten dollar sweats or something so we don't have to spend much more time here. While I can go shopping and not freak out most of the time, I don't like seeing Al so stressed out. When he's stressed, I'm stressed even though going out in public doesn't make me nearly as anxious as it makes him.

"Okay, Ed," Dada says, "Pick something out." I nod and tug on Al's arm. He walks with me and I pull some cheap sweats from the rack and walk back over to Dada.

"Let's go," I say. "We need to go before Al freaks out." Dad nods and smiles warmly at Al.

"C'mon, sweetie," Dad encourages Al. I guide him toward the section with all the gift wrap shit and we quickly pick out a bag with some tissue paper for the baby. Al squeezes my hand tighter and I look over at him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask worriedly. Al's chin quivers.

"I don't feel good," Al whispers. "My tummy hurts."

"Oh," I breathe, "Do you need to go home?" Al shakes his head.

"It's not that kind of hurt," Al tells me. "I'm not gonna throw up or anything."

"Can you make it through dinner?" I ask. He nods.

"I think so," Al replies. "I think it's just gas. That's gross, I know, but I think that's what it is." I shrug as Dada goes to pay and me and Al stand near the door.

"Eh," I vocalize, "Gas doesn't always mean farting. Sometimes it's just painful gas bubbles and nothing gross." Al smiles weakly.

"I know," he says, bending over a little. "It hurts really bad, though." Dad walks over to us and smiles.

"Ready?" Dad asks us. I nod.

"I'm ready to eat, that's for sure," I reply, taking Al's hand again. I notice Al's a little pale and I frown. "Dad, d'you have any tums?" Dad scratches his head.

"I think so," Dada answers. "If I have any they're in the car. Why?"

"Al's not feeling so good," I tell him. "But he thinks it's gas so I figured chewing some tums would help."

"Al, do you want me to take you home?" Dada asks. Al shakes his head.

"I'm okay," Al assures him. "Really, Dada. I wanna have dinner with the Hughes' and give the baby his present."

"Okay, honey," Dada says. "Hopefully I have tums in the car." I smirk.

"You should since everything gives you heartburn," I tease. Dad gives me a look.

"Ha ha," Dada replies, unlocking the car. "Ed, can you wrap the baby's present?" I nod.

"Yeah," I say. "Al, you can sign the baby's card for all of us if you want." We get in the car and Al nods.

"Okay," he replies. Dada opens the glove box and digs around, leaning on top of me as he looks for the tums.

"Sorry, Ed," Dad apologizes, his arm across my body.

"Oh, no, it's fine," I say sarcastically. "I love when people stretch their arm across my body to reach stuff."

"You're in a silly mood," Dad tells me, finding what he's looking for. He picks out two tums from the container and hands them to Al. Al pops them in his mouth and starts chewing as I hand him the card and a pen.

"Read it," I tell him, Al taking the card. He swallows and reads,

"Why is it called the miracle of birth?" Al reads, opening it so he can read the inside. "It should be called the hardship of life-long commitment. Congratulations!" Al lowers the card and asks Dada, "What the heck, Dad?"

"What?" Dad asks, pulling out of the parking lot.

"This card's kinda bleak, don't you think?" Al comments. "It's basically saying that having a baby is, like, the worst thing ever since you're stuck with them the rest of their life. Shouldn't the card be happier?"

"Al, I think Dr. Hughes and Gracia will get a laugh out of it," Dad replies. "Being a parent can be hard sometimes, Al, and when you're having a baby you don't always think about the fact that you're a parent their whole life, not just when they live with you. They'll think it's funny, I promise."

"I don't know," Al says, staring at the card. "It's kinda mean. The baby doesn't know he's gonna be part of their lives for all eternity."

"Then just say something really nice when you sign it for all of us," Dad suggests. Al frowns, his tongue peeking out as he thinks about what to write on the card.

"Yeah," he agrees, licking his lips. "Okay." Dada smiles fondly at Al and I put the blanket in the bag. Al scribbles in the card and when he's done he hands it to me and says, "There." I take the card and clear my throat.

"Despite what the card says, we're really happy for you guys. Babies are amazing and it's so great that you're family's growing. I hope your baby likes his present and we're really excited for you. Love, the von-Hohenheim-Elrics." I shake my head and lower the card on to my lap. I reach for the envelope and say, "I think you covered all our bases, Al." Al nods proudly.

"Yes, I did," he agrees, Dad chuckling as I put the card in the bag and we drive toward Dr. Hughes' house.

It doesn't take long to get from Walmart to the Hughes' house. We get out of the car, Al's tummy ache all gone thanks to Dada's tums. Dr. Hughes lets us in and we show him the bag. He seems really happy and we walk to the living room. Gracia is cooking dinner and Dr. Hughes goes to get her, Elicia hurrying over to see us. Elicia says hi to Al then crawls up into my lap. I tickle her, Elicia giggling and kicking her legs happily while Gracia comes into the room with Dr. Hughes.

"Hi, boys, Victor," she greets, a hand on her big round tummy.

"Thank you for having us, Gracia," Dada says, Gracia sitting down on the couch with Dr. Hughes. Al grabs the gift bag and stands up, walking over to her.

"We got the baby a present," Al tells her. He hands her the bag and says, "I know he's still growing in your tummy, but I think he'll like it when he's born." Gracia smiles warmly at him and nods.

"I bet he will," she agrees. "Elicia? Do you want to open Baby's present?" Elicia nods and squirms off my lap. She darts over and sits on Gracia's lap, yanking the present away.

"Is there a card, honey?" Gracia asks. Elicia nods and shoves the card at her mom, ripping into the paper. It goes all over the couch, Elicia pulling out the blanket.

"Aww, it's just a blanket," Elicia says, clearly disappointed. "Baby has lots of these."

"Elicia, be nice," Dr. Hughes reminds her. "Thank you, guys. It's a cute blanket."

"It's super soft, too," I add. "Should help keep him warm."

"Ed, Baby needs toys, not blankets," Elicia tells me matter-of-factly.

"Well, maybe when he's born we'll get him toys," I reply. "I'm sure your brother has toys, though." Elicia snorts on her mom's lap.

"All of Baby's toys are baby toys," Elicia informs me, clearly pouting. "I try them all the times and they're all boring." Dada chuckles.

"Seems like Elicia would like a present when the baby comes," Dad comments.

"Yes, we've been dealing with some jealousy as the due date approaches," Dr. Hughes agrees. "You didn't deal with that much, did you, Victor?"

"Well, not when Trisha was pregnant with Al but when Ed was about three he began expressing some jealousy when we were potty training Al," Dad explains, my cheeks turning pink.

"Dad," I groan, Dada saying,

"See, Trish's cancer came back when Al was two and a half. We started to potty train him around that time and gave him lots of attention since he struggled with it for a while. Ed got a little jealous of all the attention so me and Trisha just made sure he knew that we loved him and Al equally and even spent one-on-one time with him so he'd feel just as special." Al hides his face in his hands, obviously embarrassed. I sink in my seat, folding my arms and I say,

"Great story, Dad." Dada smiles.

"It's cute," Dada insists, Al groaning from behind his hands.

"I struggled with that?" Al asks, mortified. "Geeze, let's just keep that in the family, okay?"

"What?" Dada questions, not understanding why Al's embarrassed.

"That's what we've been doing with Elicia," Dr. Hughes explains, taking Elicia off Gracia's lap. "We've been spending lots of time with her and telling her what a good big sister she's going to be." Dr. Hughes kisses her hair and Gracia stands up.

"Dinner will be ready soon," she tells us. "I'm so glad that we're doing the right thing with Elicia." Dad smiles at her.

"Of course you are," Dada assures her. Gracia walks back into the kitchen, Elicia giggling at Al.

"Ally's shy!" Elicia squeals.

"No, Al's embarrassed because his daddy told a story about him when he was a baby," Dr. Hughes corrects. Elicia's brow furrows.

"Potty training makes Al sad?" Elicia asks, Al groaning from behind his hands again.

"Not sad, honey, embarrassed," Dr. Hughes tells her.

"Let's stop talking about this," Al says loudly from behind his hands, Dad chuckling at him.

"Oh, sweetie," Dada sighs, Elicia laughing again.

"Al's silly!" Elicia insists. Dada nods.

"Yes, he is," Dada agrees, Al lowering his hands. He's got a smile on his face, so I know that story couldn't have bothered him that bad.

Dinner was super good like it always is when we eat with Gracia and Dr. Hughes. Luckily, Dada didn't mention anything else that was humiliating over dinner. I don't think I could have handled it if he had talked about my obsession with caves or that two-week period of my life where I refused to pee indoors. I've done a lot of embarrassing things in my life so I prefer if my dad wouldn't talk with my therapist about them when I'm in the room with them. Anyway, over dinner Dr. Hughes and Gracia told us the name of the baby. They were between two names and decided on Anthony. I think that's a good name 'cause they can call him Tony or something. We had Elicia's favorite dessert after dinner since her parents are trying to make her feel special with the new baby coming. I'm glad I was a baby when Mom was pregnant with Al 'cause I would feel bad about feeling jealous of him before he was even born when I got older. Me and Al are so close and I think that maybe part of that is 'cause I was too little to be jealous when Al was in Mama's tummy. After dessert, we hung out and talked and played with Elicia until her bed time. Al got kinda pale and sick looking after Elicia went to bed and it was getting late anyway so we decided to go. Al's been really quiet the whole way home and I think he's in pain. I'm getting kinda worried about him but he claims he's fine. We get home and Al hurries out of the garage so I follow after him.

"Hey," I call, Al hurrying toward the stairs. "What's the matter?"

"Uh, nothing," Al replies, his voice shaking. "I'm just gonna take a shower."

"Al," I press, Al hanging his head.

"I, uh," Al struggles, not looking at me as Dad walks over.

"Everything okay?" Dada asks, Al holding his middle and shaking his head. "Al?"

"I, um, kinda," Al squeaks, still not looking at me or Dad, "I think I have a UTI." My brow furrows.

"Huh?" I ask. "Why? Does it burn when you pee?" Al shakes his head.

"No, but I, um, well my tummy hurts and it hurt the last time I had one and I, um," Al trails off, mumbling the last part of the sentence so I can't hear.

"What?" I ask.

"I leaked," Al whispers, Dada and I exchanging worried looks.

"You did?" Dad asks gently, Al nodding.

"Yeah, so I just wanna take a shower and go to bed," Al says, starting to walk again.

"Al, honey, we need to go see Dr. Marcoh," Dad says, walking as well. I follow them, Dada going on, "The last time you had a UTI it was accompanied by kidney stones and those can flare up without warning." Al nods.

"Yeah, okay," Al agrees, walking up the stairs.

"I'll call in the morning, see if I can get you in," Dada tells him, Al nodding again.

"Okay, Dada," Al replies. "I, uh, don't really wanna talk. Peeing your pants at fourteen, even just a little bit, kinda makes a person upset."

"Uh, don't be upsetti," I blurt, "Have some spaghetti." My whole family pauses on the stairs, Al and Dada staring at me. I chuckle nervously, blush creeping across my face. Al's face splits into a smile and he starts laughing so I laugh, too.

"That's so stupid," Al chortles, doubled over on the stairs.

"That was pretty silly, Ed," Dada agrees, chuckling. I shrug, my hands behind my back.

"It cheered him up, though," I say, Dada nodding.

"It sure did," Dad replies.

"I'm gonna go shower," Al announces, walking off. Dad puts a hand on his hip and sighs. I look over at him.

"What?" I ask.

"Upsetti?" Dada questions, shaking his head. I cross my arms.

"It made him laugh so shut up," I say, pouting a little.

"Ed, Al probably won't tell me if it hurts to pee or if he's got any blood in his pee so if he mentions something to you please tell me," Dada instructs and I roll my eyes.

"No, Dad, I just would let those things slide under the radar," I say sarcastically. Dad gives me a look and I grin weakly. "Don't worry, Dada, I'll tell you." Dada leans over and kisses my cheek.

"Thank you, honey," Dada replies. I grin sheepishly at him.

"No problem," I tell him. "I'm gonna read 'til Al's all done 'cause I wanna shower, too." Dada leans over and kisses my forehead.

"Good night, Ed," Dad says, "I love you."

"Love you, too, Dada," I reply. He pats my shoulder and walks back down the stairs. I finish walking up the stairs, Picard meowing loudly at me as I walk toward my room.

"Can it, cat," I instruct, Picard trotting behind me. I walk into my room and dig around in my backpack for my book. I find it and climb into my bed, Picard hopping up next to me and laying down. I scratch his head and read, Picard purring happily next to me. I read for a bit, Al walking inside in his pajamas.

"Hi, Picard," he greets softly. He crawls up into bed with me and I lower my book on to my lap.

"You okay?" I ask. Al shrugs.

"My back hurts like it did when I had kidney stones," Al tells me. "Brother, I think I have kidney stones."

"Oh, God, I hope not," I reply. "Maybe your back hurts because of the UTI."

"I hope so," Al says, cuddling up next to me. He feels warm and I frown.

"I think you're running a fever," I tell him. Al yawns and gets even closer to me.

"Mmm, okay," Al hums. I smile fondly at him and close my book.

"Want to sleep here?" I ask. Al nods so I get up. I tuck Al in, Al already sort of asleep. I squat down and say, "Sweet dreams, Al. I love you." Al smiles weakly.

"Love you, too," Al replies, rolling over. I stand up straight and go to shower, sincerely hoping poor Al doesn't have kidney stones like he did last time.

I wake up the sound of an alarm after falling asleep. I rub my eyes, groaning when I realize it's not my alarm for school, which would suck, but it's my bedwetting alarm, which also sucks. I sit up, realizing Al's not in bed. I shut the alarm off and sit up, trying to get awake enough to actually go find Al. I put my leg on and get up, shuffling into the hallway. I tiredly call for Al and nobody replies. I stumble down the hallway, Picard brushing up against my leg and I nearly trip over him. I curse at the cat who stares at me from Dada's doorway. I pause, staring at Dad's door. Maybe Al went in there. I walk in, the lights all off. I can hear Dada snoring lightly and I creep toward the bed. I squint, unable to see if there's two people in the bed or just one.

"Dad?" I whisper, Dada sitting up instantly.

"What's wrong?" Dad asks, turning his lamp by his bed on. I can see that it's just Dad in bed and I cross my arms.

"Never mind," I tell him. "Thought maybe Al was with you."

"Al's not in bed?" Dada questions worriedly.

"Nah, but I'm sure he's just in the bathroom or hiding somewhere," I reply. "G'night."

"Let me know if you need anything," Dada yawns, laying back down. I walk out of the room and head toward the bathroom. I knock on the door and say,

"Al? You okay?" I can hear someone panting behind the door and I check to see if it's locked. The knob gives so I crack the door a little. Al's doubled over the toilet, sweaty and pale. "Oh, my God. Are you okay?" Al looks over at me and shakes his head.

"I think I have kidney stones," he informs me weakly. "My back hurts and it hurts to pee."

"Did you throw up?" I ask him, Al nodding miserably. I kneel down and rub his back. "Want me to get Dada?" Al nods again so I stand. "Be right back." I hurry out of the room, jogging passed Picard who meows loudly at me. I go back into Dada's room and shake him back awake.

"Uh, what?" Dada asks, obviously tired.

"Dada, I think Al needs to go to the ER," I inform him. "He said it hurts to go pee and his back hurts and he's throwing up." Dada nods tiredly and sits up.

"Okay, go get Al ready," Dad instructs. "I'll go get the car started."

"Maybe you should also put on some clothes," I tell him, figuring Dada was wearing his comfy pajamas that he'd never be caught dead in outside the house.

"I will, Ed," Dada replies. "Go get ready." I nod and go back to the bathroom. Al's in the middle of throwing up so I cover my ears so I don't have to hear it. Hearing someone throw up can sometimes make me throw up. Al looks over at me when he's done and I uncover my ears.

"C'mon," I say, walking over and helping him up. "We're going to the ER." Al nods and wipes his mouth with his hand.

"Okay," Al replies miserably. I help him walk to our room and I grab some soft sweats and a soft long sleeved shirt for him to wear. I help him change, looking for any sign of bloody pee.

"Al," I say, "Is there blood in your pee?" Al nods.

"I think so," Al answers, sitting down on his bed. He grabs Chico and goes on, "It was a weird color so I think there's blood." He bends over, breathing heavily as I quickly change out of my pajamas.

"Okay, you definitely have a UTI, then," I say, pulling a hoodie on. Al looks up at me and I smile weakly at him. "You're gonna be okay. The medicine helped last time, remember?"

"But passing stones hurts so bad," Al reminds me.

"I know, but it's only for a little while and then it's over," I assure him. "And you're older now so you can take it like a man." Al shoots me a look.

"Like how you took getting glass out of your arm like a man?" He asks sarcastically and I glare at him.

"All this pain and you can still be a smart ass," I scoff. "Okay, let's go. Dada's probably waiting for us." Al tugs on my sleeve and I roll my eyes. "Yes, you can ride on my back." I help him on and I carry him down stairs. Dada's standing by the garage and sees us as we approach.

"Oh, baby, are you in pain?" Dada asks Al. Al nods and Dad pets Al's hair.

"Hey, can we do this when I'm not holding Al on my back?" I ask, Dad chuckling weakly.

"Sorry, Ed," Dada says. "Let's go so poor Al can start feeling better." I nod and carry Al out to the car. Dada helps me get him into the backseat and I decide to sit next to him. Dad opens the garage door and Al lays his head down on me.

"I'm sorry you're sick," I tell him. "And I'm sorry I called you a smart ass. It's okay to not take it like a man. You can take it like an eleven-year-old or even a two-year-old. It's okay 'cause it hurts."

"I think I'll take it like Al," Al tells me, whimpering 'cause he's in pain. "He's kind of a baby but he's me so that's the only way I can take it."

"Well, baby or not, I like him," I inform him. "And besides, I don't think you're a baby." Al grins weakly and Dada glances back at us.

"Ed, have I ever told you that you're a great big brother?" Dad asks me. I grin cheekily and nod.

"Yeah, I think I've heard that one before," I reply. Dada smiles at me and I tuck Chico under Al's arm for him.

"Have I ever told you that Mom would be so proud of the both of you?" Dada asks. I nod again.

"Yeah, but it never hurts to hear it again," I tell him. Dada smiles again and keeps driving as we all prepare for what's probably gonna be the second longest night in the ER we've had this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I want to share some pretty big news with you guys that might effect how frequently I can post. I sort of got in to nursing school so starting January 8th, I'll be in nursing school working toward my BSN. I'm going to be super busy with entrance stuff the next couple months and I'm still working full time until I start nursing school so I'll be busy but I'll try to update as often as I can. I'm also excited to announce that Ed is slowly reaching the end of his story so it only be another ten or so chapters until we make it to the end. It's so amazing to me that this little story has had such a big impact on those who read it and I'll always be so grateful to those who read it and get something out of it. I never imagined that this little experiment would have been read at all, let alone span 47 chapters with people telling me about the impacts it's leaving on them. So just bare with me over the next several months and we'll all get to the end of Ed's journey together. Thanks so much and I'll see you all next chapter!


	48. The Basement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else like watching those TLC shows like Hoarders and My 600lb life? No? Just me and my sister and Ed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up, there is talk of child abuse in this chapter.

The ER trip only lasted two hours. Al got some antibiotics and the doctors found one stone, but it's small and he can pass it at home. They gave him medicine for pain and that was that. Dada's letting us skip school today, though, since we didn't go to the ER until, like, one in the morning so we didn't get home until three. It's noon now, Al snoozing on the couch while I mindlessly flip through channels. Today's Wednesday, so Dada's going to come pick us up in a couple hours and take us to group. I sigh, today's group topic clouding my brain. I'm going to talk about the first time she locked me in the basement. The basement in our house is only partially finished. There's paneling on the walls, but the floors and stairs are concrete. There's no bathroom and only two tiny windows. Our laundry room is down there as are all our furnaces and shit. Dada says that he and Mom had planned on renovating the basement to make it a finished one so me and Al could have a place to hang out and play growing up but when Mama got sick, those plans sort of became less important. Sometimes, Dad will bring it up but he really doesn't have any intention of actually following through. He can't even keep the house clean. I highly doubt he could handle any sort of renovation. He's mentioned doing something with the spare room upstairs since me and Al don't want to stop sharing a room, but I don't think that room will ever be anything else besides a room full of boxes and shit that Dad has no idea what to do with.

I shake my head, trying to block out my time in the basement from my head. I'll be thinking about it plenty this afternoon. No reason to get all worked up right now when I really should just watch a movie or play video games. It's just hard to do anything when Al's sleeping. My normal interests aren't fun when Al's not around or when he's not conscious. I don't know why. Dr. Hughes blames it on co-dependency, but I think that's shit. Al and I aren't co-dependent. At least, I don't think we are. We're just a lot closer than most siblings because of what we went through. It's really hard for me to be alone, even after two years of living abuse free. When I'm alone, all I can think about is her cornering me, sneaking up on me, and trapping me so I can't escape. When I'm alone, all the bad memories and scary thoughts are given free rein in my head. When I'm alone, I'm scared. I sigh and I lay down on the couch, my legs on top of Al. He moans softly, trying to roll over but can't 'cause I'm on top of him. His hands lazily reach over and he tries to push me off. I laugh as he fails, giving up so he can keep napping for a bit. I continue flipping through channels until I find something to watch. It's the show Hoarders and it's kind of a guilty pleasure for me. I don't know why, but I love seeing just how bad people's houses can get. I watch for a bit, checking my watch. Al's been napping for a while so I decide to get him up. Not because I think he's been napping too long or even because I'm lonely. I just figure that if I let him sleep, he might pee on the couch and that's super hard to clean up. I shake him gently, Al groaning at me.

"Al, get up," I instruct. "Go potty." Al groans again and sits up, rubbing his eyes like a little kid.

"Okay," he agrees tiredly, finally shoving my legs off his body. He sits up and yawns, stretching as he looks over at the TV. "Hoarders?" I nod lazily.

"Yup," I reply. "This lady hoards food and other nasty shit. Doesn't want to give up expired cans of meat."

"Gross," Al says, standing. He walks away and I lean forward. I can't believe how unreasonable this lady's being. Why keep expired food? I don't get it. It really doesn't make sense. Picard jumps up next to me and rams his face into my arm. I pet him with one hand and point to the TV with the other.

"See this, Captain?" I ask. "Her fridge and stove have maggots inside 'cause she keeps rotting food." Picard meows softly at me. "Well, I guess it's not as bad as animal hoarding but it's still gross. And her living room has all this shit she doesn't need. It's crazy." Al walks back in and sits down next to Picard.

"What'd I miss?" Al asks me.

"She had a breakdown because the home organizer insisted that they throw out all the food in the kitchen because it's basically all rotting," I tell him. I look over at him and ask, "Everything go okay?" Al nods.

"It hurt and I didn't pass the stone yet," he replies with a yawn. I nod and Al looks at the TV. We watch the show for a bit, Picard climbing into Al's lap.

"Hey, Brother?" Al asks after a while.

"Yeah?" I reply.

"Um, well, I," Al struggles. I glance over at him.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"What if I leak or something at school tomorrow?" Al asks quietly, his face red. I sigh and look at my feet.

"God, I don't know," I reply. Poor Al's really had a terrible time in school. He's practically always been bullied by someone for some reason. In kindergarten, it was 'cause he smelled funny. As he got older, it grew more personal. Basically, everything he did was worthy of teasing by both kids at school and her. Considering some kids at school still call him Pee-Pants, I have a feeling it wouldn't be pretty if the UTI or the kidney stone decided to act up in school. Al sighs sadly and shakes his head.

"Well, I do know," he says quietly. "If anything happened at school, I think I'd have to drop out. Get home schooled again."

"You can't let them get to you," I tell him. "Those kids are stupid douche bags. They only tease you because they've got nothing better to do. Their lives are pathetic and you're amazing. Don't let them run you out of school the way she did."

"It's harder than it looks or sounds," Al informs me pathetically. "You know that." I nod. I'm no stranger to bullying either. When I was little, it really upset me but now I just block out pretty much everything everyone says. I'm like a duck; their mean words just roll right off my back. Besides, my bubbles usually make it impossible for me to say anything so I just silently take it. I'm no good at coming up with comebacks, anyways.

"Just be like a duck, then," I suggest. Al's brow furrows.

"A duck?" He asks.

"Yeah," I reply. "You know how water just rolls off them?" Al nods so I go on, "Pretend you're a duck and they're water the next time they bully you. It'll just roll off. And if you do leak or something, just go to the nurse. She'll call Dad for you." Al grins weakly.

"Like a duck," Al muses. "Is that what you do, Brother?" I nod.

"Yup," I reply. "It took me a long time to be able to do it, but I can now and it helps. I wish I could have been like a duck when we were kids."

"To be fair, she said way worse stuff to us than any bullies at school do," Al points out. "Well, except the kids telling me to kill myself."

"Didn't she say shit like that to you, though?" I question. Al frowns, clearly thinking about it.

"Oh, yeah," he says softly. "She always used to say I was better off dead or I was more use dead or everyone would be happier if I was never born." I pull him into my side, Al shaking like normal.

"It's not true," I tell him quietly. "You're not better off dead. You're a good boy and high school kids are idiots. Someday, everyone will see how cool you are."

"You really think I'm cool?" Al asks.

"Hell, yeah, I do!" I cry enthusiastically, Al giggling at me. I tickle him a little and go on, "You're the coolest person I know! You can build a 1,000-piece puzzle in, like, a day and you're literally a cat whisperer."

"I think you're cool, too," Al tells me. I grin sheepishly.

"I know you do," I reply proudly. "It's a big brother thing." Al laughs again and we turn our attention back to the show.

"Oh, gross, she's gonna keep living that way," Al complains. "I hate when they don't realize how nasty their house is."

"Can't win 'em all, I guess," I say lightly, Picard purring happily on Al's lap.

Dada comes to get us around three. Al and I spent all afternoon eating pizza rolls and watching Hoarders. Part of me felt gross from just watching the show, but there wasn't time to take a shower or change clothes before we left. Oh well. I'm not actually dirty, I just feel like there's worms and flies all over me after watching four hours of nasty houses on TV. Dad drives us to the building and I kinda want him to stay, but my bubbles stop me from saying so. God, I hate that I still have bubbles in my throat. A few months ago, I figured since they weren't around as often that they'd be gone by now. Stupid, really. Of course they aren't all gone. It's gonna take a super long time before they all go away just like every other part of getting better. I just wish they weren't in my throat right now 'cause I really want Dad to stay. I really hate just thinking about the basement. It's one of the things I've never really talked about with anyone, even Dr. Hughes. It makes my hands shake and I always feel like I'm gonna throw up when I think about it. Just thinking about the days I spent in the dark, all alone, in the basement makes me feel as anxious and scared as I did when she locked me down there. But I have bubbles so Dada won't stay. He pulls up to the front and Al gets out, me staying in the front seat. Dad looks over at me and asks,

"Ed? Are you okay?" I shake my head. "What's the matter?" I swallow hard and try to respond to Dada.

"I, uh," I struggle. "I want…. Can you….? D'you you want to…." I shake my head. "Never mind. See you later."

"Hold on," Dada instructs. "Wait. Do you want me to stay?" I pause, my hand on the door handle. I nod mutely and I can hear Dad sigh. "I can stay, honey."

"Are you sure?" I ask anxiously. "You don't have lab prep or anything?" Dada smiles – that smile that makes his skin all wrinkly – and shakes his head.

"Nothing I can't cancel, Ed," Dad assures me. "You get out and I'll park, okay?" I nod and get of the car.

"Thanks," I say, shutting the door. Dad pulls away and I walk over to Al.

"Everything okay?" Al asks me. I nod.

"I guess," I say quietly. "Dada's gonna stay." Al fidgets nervously.

"Oh," Al sighs. "Yeah, I guess it's a good day for it." I nod.

"Yeah," I say, Dad walking over from the parking lot. He makes it over and puts his arm around me.

"You ready?" Dada asks me. I nod.

"Sure," I reply. Dad starts walking and I follow, Al walking next to Dad.

"So, uh, are you talking about the basement?" Al asks, his voice shaking. I nod, my palms starting to sweat.

"Yup," I croak. "It'll be fun."

"The basement?" Dad asks, his face getting white. "You mean right before you lost your leg?" I shake my head.

"No," I answer. "This is… worse, somehow, believe it or not."

"I see," Dad says softly, staring off in the hallway. We turn into the room, Dr. Hughes greeting us warmly. We sit down, Hannah and Nicole staring at us from across the circle. Al waves hesitantly, Hannah taking that as an invitation to walk over. I stare at my lap, Al saying,

"Hi."

"Where were you guys at school today?" Hannah questions.

"Oh, um, I got sick last night and went to the ER," Al explains. Hannah nods in response and looks over at Dad.

"Who's this?" She asks. Dada stands up and I groan softly. I can barely see Dad extend his hand toward Hannah as he says,

"I'm their father, Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. Pleased to meet you." I look up, Hannah crossing her arms and glaring at Dada.

"You're their dad, huh?" Hannah questions. Dad nods eagerly, his hand still pointed at her.

"Yes," he replies happily. "What's your name?"

"Hannah," she replies shortly. Dada's hand goes back at his side and I can tell he's confused by Hannah's hostility.

"Is something the matter?" Dad asks her. I look up at Dad, the back of my neck all sweaty.

"You just don't look like the kind of person who'd let that sort of abuse go on for so long, that's all," Hannah informs him, Al gasping loudly beside me. Dada blinks a little and sighs sadly.

"I didn't let it happen, though I understand why you might perceive it that way," Dad replies quietly. "Hearing what my boys went through, I'm sure it's very easy to see it that way. I assure you, though, I love these boys more than anything and I wish there was some way I could make all that go away, but I can't." Hannah huffs.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" She demands.

"Ed needed me to be here with him today during his story," Dada explains. "It won't be easy for him to tell and –"

"You don't hafta explain yourself to her, Dada," I cut in, interrupting Dad. "You don't owe her or anyone else here anything." Dad stares at me and I shrug. "You don't."

"I'm going to head back to my seat now," Hannah announces like we care. Dada nods and sits down.

"Nice meeting you," Dada tells her, walking off. I huff loudly and slide down in my chair, Dad sitting down next to me.

"God, she's the worst," I complain softly. "Sorry, Dad." Dad cleans his glasses and shrugs.

"It's fine," Dada replies, putting his glasses back on his face. "I suppose if I were to tell more people about the abuse, that would probably be the response I get."

"But that's not –" I begin, Dada cutting me off,

"Fair?" I nod and Dad goes on, "It's not completely fair but there are elements of truth sprinkled in, Ed. No, I didn't know it was happening and no, I didn't allow it to go on, but by not being more observant and involved when I was at home I unknowingly allowed her to abuse you both." I look at my shoes. I guess that's true. Hell, even I blame Dada for the abuse sometimes. But still – I think Hannah was way outta line. I mean, who goes up to strangers and rips them a new one?!

"Fair or not it was totally not cool what Hannah did," I mutter.

"I suppose not," Dada agrees. "Still, Ed, you'll have to be prepared for that kind of reaction when you choose to tell people about your childhood. I'm going to come across as the bad guy for a lot of people when they hear what happened." I cross my arms and grumble softly to myself as Al leans forward in his seat.

"You're not the bad guy in my book, Dada, if that counts for anything," Al says. I glance up at Dada's face, a warm smile on it. He ruffles Al's hair and tells him,

"Your book is one of the only books that matters to me, Al."

"Okay," Dr. Hughes says from the center of the circle, "Let's get started. We have Ed and Al's father with us this week so Ed's going to start us of like usual. You ready, Ed?" I swallow nervously but I nod. God, I hate talking about this but it's the next big thing in the story so I gotta.

"Sure," I reply, my voice shaking. Hannah and Nicole give my dad a swift glare and I wish I could flip them off for that. I shake my head, trying to ignore those rude girls, and start talking;

"When I was about seven, Vanessa began playing what me and Al called the cleaning game with us. Basically, she would put a bunch of house-hold cleaners in the bathroom and lock us inside, forcing us to clean it. It would start to smell and the chemicals would start to irritate our skin, eyes, and throat the longer we were trapped in the room. We had two hours each time to clean the bathroom to her standards and, of course, we never could. The punishment for failing was that she would force some cleaner down our throats, usually some powered bathroom cleaner with ammonia in it. Every time me or Al would play the game – we'd always play it separately, never together so we couldn't help each other clean – we'd get force fed two tablespoons of cleaner as punishment for loosing. That game and playing house quickly became Vanessa's favorites and with each passing year, she would feed us more and more cleaner each time we lost her unfair game.

"Vanessa had also learned just how scared me and Al were of being locked up in the dark, alone, in small places. From the beginning of the abuse she'd separate us, lock us in closets and would even lock us in our room at night time so we couldn't get into trouble. By the time I was nine, I had been locked up in every closet in the house, both bathrooms, my room, the dog house outside when I was chained up, and Vanessa had even bought a dog crate for me to get locked in when she was feeling extra mean. Really, the only place in the house she hadn't locked me our Al up in yet was our unfinished basement. Our basement has insulation in the walls and paneling on the outside of the walls, almost like someone who owned the house was gonna finish it but never did. When Mom and Dada moved in there and had kids, they made plans to put carpet over the concrete stairs and floors, improve the lighting, and build a bathroom so me and Al could have, like, a playroom down there to hang out in. When Mom got sick, though, I guess those plans just kinda fell through. Our basement is dark, damp, and scary, but we had never once been forced to stay down there since the abuse started.

"The week before spring break when I was nine, Dada had left. He wasn't coming back until a couple days after spring break ended. Like usual, Vanessa was making our lives miserable with playing house and the cleaning game. I was beginning to feel sick all the time from the chemical exposure. My throat was raw and my voice was scratchy. I felt sick to my stomach all the time and was throwing up a lot. My eyes were constantly burning but I couldn't stop playing the game. I had to play the cleaning game and I had to play house. The weekend before spring break began, I was locked in the bathroom on the main floor of our house, trying to clean it. Even though I knew I was going to lose each time I played, I always stupidly tried to win so I could avoid getting punished. The two hours was up, though, and like always Vanessa wasn't pleased with my work. She fed me the cleaner like normal but I could tell she was thinking of something new that she could do to me. I had been pretty resistant to her recently since I had a small boost in confidence after starting martial arts with Teacher. Feeding me cleaner and chaining me up was probably starting to get boring to her and she was more than likely frustrated that I was beginning to resist her again. She needed something new to keep me in line and I was starting to panic internally as she stared down at me. Finally, after a few agonizing seconds of her just staring at me, Vanessa said,

"'Edward, be a dear and run down stairs for me. I have clothes that need to be collected from the drier. There's a basket sitting next to it you can put the clothes in." I nodded, not even thinking twice about it. I hurried over to the door to the basement and opened it, shuttering at how dark and creepy the basement was even with the lights on. I went down the stairs as fast as I could without falling and hurried to the laundry room. I opened the drier, my brow furrowing when I saw there weren't any clothes inside. I began to panic, figuring she would beat me or Al when I told her there wasn't anything in the drier at all. I hesitantly walked back toward the staircase, the door shut at the top. I walked up the stairs and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge.

'V-Vanessa?" I croaked, my throat throbbing with every word, 'Th-The empty's drier.' I cringed, hoping she wouldn't get mad at me for mixing up my words. As a little kid, I used to mix up words in my head when reading or talking. As I got older, I learned how to read without the words getting out of order, but sometimes I would still say words out loud out of order. I can mostly read without mixing up words in my head now, but sometimes I still get confused and have to read out loud so I don't mix up words in my head. Anyway, mixing up words really pissed Vanessa off and the more anxious I got, the more I'd mix up my words. It's kinda like how Al stutters or how I word vomit. I guess the words getting mixed up is almost like a preview of the word vomit. I don't know. I shook my head and tried again; 'The drier's empty, Vanessa.'

'Oh, it is?' Vanessa asked from the other side of the door.

'Yeah,' I replied. 'Can I come up now?'

'Well, do you have clothes in a basket to bring to me?' Vanessa questioned harshly. Sweat began running down my neck as I shook my head.

'N-No, but th-there's nothing in th-the drier,' I answered, stuttering nervously.

'I don't know what to tell you, you little shit, but you're not allowed in the house until you bring me those clothes,' Vanessa informed me. I started heaving, tears forming in my eyes.

'Wh-What clothes?' I cried frantically. "Please, I'm s-sorry! I'll clean the b-bathroom better n-next time! L-Let me up!"

'Can't do it,' Vanessa replied, clearly bored.

'B-But there's n-no water or f-food an' it's real dark a-and there's no b-bathroom down here,' I protested, frantically grasping at reasons why she should let me back upstairs.

'So?' Vanessa questioned sharply. 'Find those clothes and you can come back up.' I could hear her walking away from the door and I slumped down on the stairs. I didn't know what I was going to do. I was sick from her cleaning game and was now trapped in the unfinished basement with nothing, not even a water bottle. My little heart pounded inside my chest and I just started crying. I didn't know what else to do. Crying was just about the only thing I could do.

"I sat near the top of the stairs and cried for a long time. It hurt so bad but I had never been more scared before. Vanessa turned off all the lights so not only was I cold, I couldn't see anything anymore. I started coughing after crying for a while, unable to really cry anymore. My stomach made some funny noises and I squirmed, the urge to pee hitting me all of a sudden. I stood up, dancing a little as I blindly walked toward the door. I bumped into it and knocked softly, hoping that Al was nearby. There was no response at first. I coughed again, clenching up when a little pee leaked out from the force of my coughing fit. I whimpered, too scared to walk down the stairs in the dark and find a bucket or cooler or something to pee in. The last time I feel down the basement stairs in the dark, I broke my arm. I really didn't want to do that 'cause I knew that if I did hurt myself because I fell down the stairs in the dark Vanessa wouldn't take me to a doctor. It just wasn't a risk I was willing to take. I felt around in the dark again for the door and knocked, a little louder than the first time, my ear pressed up against it as I waited to see if Al was going to answer.

'Brother?' Came Al's scared little voice from the other side of the door. I sighed in relief.

'Alphie, listen carefully,' I told him urgently. 'I need to pee. Can you unlock the door and let me up?' I could hear poor Al whimpering, his breathing loud and haggard.

'I want to, but I don' know if I can,' Al responded, upset. 'She's still home.'

'I gotta go,' I whimpered, dancing and holding myself.

'Um, okay,' Al squeaked. 'I'll try to unlock the door.' I heard Al walk away and waited to hear him walk back. My heart was thumping as I heard footsteps coming toward me and I was really hoping it was Al.

'Al?' I whispered nervously.

'I'm gonna unlock it,' Al whispered back. I could hear heavier footsteps approaching, freezing up when I realized Al just got caught. I heard him scream – his back hitting the door with a loud bang. I flinched a little, Vanessa yelling,

'Get away from there!' I could hear her beating him from the other side of the door, Al crying loudly and apologizing over and over again. 'Seems like the only way you pieces of shit stay out of trouble is if you're both locked up. I heard her drag Al away and I sat down on the steps. He later told me that she locked him in our room until morning as punishment for trying to help me. I shivered, pee soaking my pants and the step I was setting on. I honestly thought this was it. This was the time Vanessa was gonna kill us both. Neither of us had food or water and Dada wasn't going to be home until over a week later. As I cried on the top step, I honestly thought I was going to die.

"I don't know when, but Vanessa threw a water bottle at me within the first couple days. I had slowly made my way down to the bottom of the stairs, realizing I wouldn't be able to leave. I was terrified that I was going to die, even when Vanessa threw the bottle down the stairs for me. One water bottle couldn't possibly keep me alive for however long Vanessa planned to keep me down there. I cried a lot and when I wasn't crying, I was barfing. I was trapped in the dark, literally all alone. I had no one to talk to, not even a stuffed animal. The only things I could do were barf and sleep. But sleeping was really hard on a cold, concrete floor, especially when it was dark and I couldn't find the last place I went to the bathroom at or the last place I threw up and ended up laying down in it. I tried to ration the water bottle the best I could, but I had no sense of time down there. Every sound from upstairs was scary; every groan from the furnaces freaked me out. But what scared me more was the silences. The lack of noise or voices or anything that was normal in everyday living was so unnerving I feared I was going to go crazy way before Vanessa eventually let me back upstairs. I had no idea what Vanessa was doing to Al upstairs and I was scared. It was a terrible thought, but I remember thinking about how lucky I would have been if I was upstairs getting beaten instead. But as time went on and I remained trapped in the gross, cold basement I began to think about how maybe dying wouldn't be so bad. At least if I were dead, I wouldn't be trapped in the basement all alone. I had never been alone in the dark for so long before I and felt like I was starting to lose my mind. I'd cry for Dada or Mom or even Teacher to come and rescue me but no one ever came.

"Al later told me that life wasn't very good for him that week, either. He would try to sneak me food or even try to turn on the lights and let me upstairs, only to get caught every time. Vanessa couldn't beat him, though, since Dada was due to be home in a few days so she mostly just played house with him. According to Al, she basically played house with him the whole week and hardly ever changed him. He had to sit in his own mess since she wouldn't let him use the bathroom and all he was getting to eat was old baby food and milk. Al thinks that Vanessa was feeding him rotten food 'cause he felt sick basically all week just like I was. When he wasn't playing house with Vanessa, he was locked up in his room not getting fed or playing the cleaning game. Like I said, though, everything was quiet above me so I had no idea the hell Al was having to endure while I was trapped down stairs. Occasionally, I thought I could hear someone's tiny, scared voice coming from the other side of the basement door, but thought I was just hearing things. Now I know it really was Al, trying desperately to help me while doing very little to help himself.

"After what I later learned was a full week in the basement, I passed out from delirium. I was sick because of the cleaning game and was out of water. I imagine that I was running quite the fever and I can remember that right before I blacked out, I figured that I was going to die soon. I mean, I hadn't eaten in days and I had been out of water for a while. Being sick on top of all that didn't really stack the deck in my favor. I wasn't expecting to wake up again but I did. When I woke up, I was clean and in a bed. I sat up quickly, the motion making me woozy. I looked frantically around the room, realizing I was in my room. I had no idea what time it was or what day it was or where Al or Dada were. The door opened and Vanessa walked in. She grinned at me and sat down on the edge of my bed, tucking Lamby under my arm for me. I was really freaked out. Vanessa hadn't been nice to me in three years. What was she doing smiling and giving me Lamby? There had to be an ulterior motive. There just had to be.

'You've been sick all spring break, haven't you, shit head?' Vanessa said in a sweet voice. I was confused but I nodded anyway. 'Your father's worried sick about you. He's coming home today and you better be in this room when he gets home or you'll regret it.' I swallowed nervously and nodded again, Vanessa getting off my bed.

'Wh-Where's Al?' I asked frantically. Vanessa groaned and put her hand on her hip.

'The little brat's at Pinako's,' Vanessa told me. 'I don't want to hear another peep out of you. Do not leave this room.' I watched her leave, a glass of water on my nightstand. Suddenly super thirsty, I drank it all and cuddled up with Lamby. I managed to take a much-needed nap and when I woke up, I had to pee. I got up, not thinking about what Vanessa had said, and paused at the door.

'Crap,' I whispered, walking backwards toward the bed. I could hear footsteps coming toward my door and I instantly started panicking. How did she know I was out of bed? I hadn't even made a sound! I whimpered, the door knob rattling. I started breathing heavily, pee running down my leg, and I sunk to my knees. The door open and I started crying, unable to even say anything or look up at her. I felt so pathetic, so worthless right then and all I wanted was my dad. The footsteps stopped and I felt a gentle hand on my head. My body tensed up, anticipating getting smacked for disobeying Vanessa, but all I felt was someone gently petting my hair.

'Baby, it's okay.' I hesitantly looked up, Dada smiling at me. 'Dada's here now, Ed.' I flung myself on to him, soaking up the human contact I had gone a whole week without. I sobbed into Dada's chest, Dad picking me up and hugging me tightly. I wrapped my legs around his middle, Dada cradling me on his chest.

'I-I'm sorry!' I wailed, though I couldn't remember what I was apologizing for.

'Shh, it's okay, it's okay,' Dada whispered. He held me close, close enough that I could hear his heart, even though I was sobbing. He rubbed my back and petted my hair and had no idea how much I had missed being touched. For a whole week, I was locked up alone in the dark and Dada didn't know. He had no idea. I really, really wanted to tell him everything right then and there, but the day Al told his teacher filled my brain. I figured no one, not even Dada, would believe me. After all, Dad didn't believe Al. Why would he believe me?

'Sweetie, you're running a fever,' Dada told me softly, still petting my hair. 'Daddy will help you get cleaned up from your accident then you can lay back down. I'm sorry you were sick all week, baby.' I didn't say anything. I didn't say anything because if I did, I would have probably told him about the abuse and I really didn't have the strength that day to be called liar."

I stop talking, glancing down at my watch. I set a timer like I always do but it hasn't gone off yet. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, my throat tightening up. Do I have to keep talking? I really don't have anything else to say. I wanted to talk about the basement and I did. I cancel the timer, the whole group staring at me. I don't owe these kids anything. I've told my story week after week for months and they can deal with me ending early. I can feel my chin quiver, Dada patting my arm gently. He leans over to me and kisses my hair, tears pricking in my eyes. God, I don't want to start crying. Not in front of all these people I don't really know. I sniffle and wipe my face with my arm.

"I should go," Dada whispers. I nod and Dad goes on, "I'll pick you and Al up after group." I nod again and Dada stands up. He thanks the group for letting him sit in and leaves. I stare at my lap, the group staying silent for a little while. Soon, though, like most weeks they all start talking. My stupid throat feels like rubber and I'm still fighting tears. I really hate the basement. In some ways, it's worse than the chain or the fence. It's what made me scared of the dark, scared of small spaces, and scared of being alone. It's the first moment in my life that I remember feeling completely hopeless – the first moment in my life that I felt completely and totally alone. It's the moment where I felt abandoned by everyone and unwanted. Those feelings are still in my brain; ruining my life with every intrusive thought and every anxiety attack. If I could, I would wipe that week of my life out of my head and never have to think about it again. If I could, I would make it so that it never happened at all. But I can't and it sucks balls.

Group ends and I haven't said anything to anyone since my story ended. Dr. Hughes is talking to some of the kids and me and Al are still in our seats. We're gonna wait for Dada here and he'll probably do his traditional after group talk with Dr. Hughes. The other kids are starting to leave, Al watching them silently beside me. He hums quietly, his eyes stuck on two very specific people. I know who he's looking at. I wish he'd stop. I know he likes Hannah for some reason but I don't know how he feels about Nicole. I hate both of them. Looking at them's gonna make them feel like they've been invited to come and talk to us. They haven't. Every time Hannah comes over to talk to us after group, she always asks questions about our story. I don't like that. I hate that and I hate her. Nicole just seems to hate me as much as I hate her. Fine by me. As long as they don't bully Al, they can hate me as much as they want. Al elbows me in the ribs and I glare at him.

"Stop," I snap. Al points at the girls and I assume they're coming over. I look up and before they can say anything I tell them; "I'm not gonna talk about my story or my dad so if that's what you want to talk about, you can forget it." The girls pause, both of them staring at me.

"You peed yourself a lot growing up, didn't you?" Nicole questions, crossing her arms. I blush and glare at her.

"Maybe," I answer. "What's it to you?"

"I was just wondering if that's ended," Nicole snickers. I blush even harder.

"No, Nicole, I don't pee myself," I reply angrily.

"I know Al does," Nicole goes on, Al's eyes widening.

"What?" Al breathes. He swallows nervously and says, "I don't, really."

"Not while you're awake, anyway," Nicole says, Hannah elbowing her. Nicole says, "Ow!", while Hannah mutters about shutting up.

"You told her!" Al cries and I whip my head around to look at him.

"You told Hannah that you wet the bed?" I ask, completely surprised. Al nods, his chin quivering.

"Sh-She said that friends don't keep secrets," Al explains. "We have gym together. I've been telling her stuff about me and she tells me stuff about her. I didn't think she'd tell someone else, though."

"But the bed wetting?" I question. "Really?"

"It just sort of slipped out," Al tells me, humiliated. "I was really tired and she asked me why so I told her the truth." My heart is beating funny. I'm terrified that Al might have told Hannah that I wet the bed, too. Why else would Nicole have teased me about all my pee-problems growing up unless she knew that I haven't grown out of the most humiliating part of childhood yet?

"I haven't told anyone at school about it," Hannah cuts in. "And Nicole found out by accident. I didn't mean to tell her, Al, I promise." Al whimpers, tears starting to run down his face.

"I know," Al says, his voice cracking. I pull him into a hug and start rubbing his back.

"Shh, it's okay," I comfort, Al crying harder. "It's okay." I bring his ear close to my face and whisper, "Did you tell her about me?" Al shakes his head and I sigh in relief. Of course he didn't. Al sometimes says more than he should, but he's always been good about guarding my secrets. It was silly to get scared about him telling his stupid friend about my own issues. Al would never, ever do that. But since my default emotion is fear, I can't beat myself up too much.

"I really am sorry," Hannah apologizes again. "The only reason I told was 'cause I was helping her do research on a project for school on abuse and she wanted to know some things abusive parents will do to punish kids in certain situations. Nicole couldn't come up with one so I mentioned that even non-abusive parents punish their kids for wetting the bed and, I'm sorry, Al." I glare at her, my eyes peeking out over Al's shoulder.

"You should be," I inform her. "Al trusted you with something really personal and you went and told somebody else." Hannah nods, glancing down.

"I know," she says quietly. "I'm sorry. I understand if you're both angry – I'd be angry if someone I trusted did this to me – but I still wanna be friends." I feel Al nod and I wish I could roll my eyes. Why does Al insist on hurting himself by becoming friends with not nice people like Hannah? I guess it's just 'cause he knows what it feels like to have no friends at school and doesn't want anyone else to feel that way. He's just too good of a person, I guess.

"If it makes you feel better, your story helped me with my project," Nicole butts in. I stare at her.

"Oh, yeah," I say sarcastically. "It makes Al feel all better." Nicole glares at me.

"Look, jackass, I'm sorry I teased you but you can chill out," Nicole snaps. "I don't go to your school so it's not like I'm gonna tell anyone about your story or about Al." I gesture at Hannah.

"She could," I say. Hannah's eyes widen and she shakes her head.

"I wouldn't," she insists frantically. "I've had people talk about me behind my back, including people I thought were my friends. I'd never do that to someone." Al pulls away, wiping his face. He's mostly calm, though he's shaking harder than usual. That's normal, though. Whenever he's stressed or scared or upset, his tremor gets worse.

"You okay?" I ask. He nods, not speaking. I smile sadly and tell him, "If you want, we can watch some DS9 when we get home. We're getting to the really good stuff."

"DS9?" Hannah asks.

"Deep Space Nine," I say shortly, "It's Star Trek." Hannah and Nicole exchange glances, Nicole giggling softly. My brow furrows and I ask, "What?"

"It's just Star Trek is so nerdy," Nicole laughs. "I mean, the new movies are cool but the rest of it is just old and mostly boring. At least the new movies have good actors unlike that old crap."

"Yeah, Chris Pine is so hot," Hannah agrees. "I didn't know you guys liked that stuff." I blink, Al nodding slowly.

"Dada took Mom to the Star Trek thing in Las Vegas before it closed," Al explains. "He likes looking at the pictures. Mama was sick then, but she had fun anyway."

"Boys, your dad's here," Dr. Hughes calls. I stand right away and hurry off before I have to say anything else to those girls. Dada's talking to Dr. Hughes and I tug on his coat.

"Ed, what is it?" Dad asks.

"Can we go?" I say, practically begging. "Please?" Dad's brow furrows.

"Is everything okay?" Dada presses. I shake my head, anxiety making me feel sick.

"I just wanna go home," I tell him, my voice shaking as my throat gets tight. Dad smiles sadly at me and kisses my hair.

"Okay, okay," he says softly. "We'll go." Al makes it over, Dad noticing how puffy Al's eyes are. "Are you okay?" Al nods and I take his hand.

"See you on Friday, boys," Dr. Hughes says. I wave and hurry out of the room, Al almost dragging behind me. Dad watches us nervously and we get in the car. Me and Al are quiet, Dada starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Dada asks, clearly worried. I shrug.

"I don't know," I reply softly.

"Ed," Dad says, his voice shaking. "Ed, I had no idea. You were alone down there for a week?" I nod, my chin quivering. Dad shakes his head. "Oh, God. Oh, my God. You could have…. Oh, God." I sniffle loudly, unable to fight the tears any longer. I start crying, Al leaning toward the front seat, his brow wrinkled with worry. I start sobbing loudly, Dada pulling over somewhere and pulling me into his side.

"Oh, baby," Dad whispers, tears saturating his clothes. He pets my hair, his voice all gentle like it always is after I have a bad dream or I wet the bed. "It's okay. It's okay. You never, ever have to go down there again, Ed. Oh, God, I am so sorry. I'm sorry, Ed. I'm so sorry." The thing is, I know he is. Even though I blame him for the whole thing sometimes and even though I sometimes feel mad at him, I know Dada's sorry. Despite all the times growing up that she told me how much Dad hated me, I always knew he didn't. I know Dad loves me, most of the time. I knew Dada was sorry the day he cried like a baby in the ER in full few of all those police men and doctors and nurses and Mrs. Davis. I know Dad's sorry because he lets me and Al act like little kids instead of insisting we grow up and act like teenagers. I know Dada's sorry because I hear him cry at night sometimes. But Dada being sorry doesn't change anything or make things all better. Hearing him apologize doesn't make me feel better, not really. I don't know how it makes me feel.

"Shh," Dada coos in my ear. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm right here, baby. You're not alone. It's okay." I hug Dada back, not sobbing anymore but I'm still crying pretty hard. Dad rocks back and forth as much as he can in the car, the gentle motion slowly calming me down.

"That's it," Dada encourages like he always did when I was little and I'd cry. "That's it. It's over, sweetie. It's okay." I nod, wiping my face. Dada kisses my hair and I sigh sadly.

"Brother?" Al asks quietly.

"What?" I reply hoarsely.

"I love you," Al tells me. I smile weakly and nod.

"Yeah, I know you do," I say. "I love you, too, kiddo." Al grins and Dada kisses me again.

"You okay, Brother?" Dad asks me. I nod.

"I think so," I answer. "Think I just needed to cry for a while."

"Hungry?" Dad asks. I nod and he asks, "What are you in the mood for, Ed?"

"Can we get pizza from Jay's?" I ask. Jay's is a family owned pizza place in town. It's in the square – the center of Resembool. City hall is in the middle and there's a square of shops and businesses and even apartments surrounding it. The square is only about a mile long but that's where the movie theater and the Dollar General are. It's the only place in Resembool with some semblance of civilization. "It's been forever. We've ordered a ton of Domino's lately."

"Yeah!" Al says eagerly from the back seat. "Let's get Jay's! I like how the pizzas are square." Dada chuckles and pulls back on to the road.

"You used to call it the square pizza place," Dad informs us. "Mom thought that was cute." Al grins and I shoot Dada a look.

"I have a feeling that Mom thought that Al was cute," I comment.

"Yes, that's right," Dada affirms. "She thought you both were."

"Well, you don't think that 'cause that's not manly," I say. "You're a man and me and Al are men now."

"That's cute, Ed," Dada laughs, my cheeks turning pink. "You boys are not men and I do think you're cute. I guess I'm not very manly, huh?" I shrug, a smile on my face.

"Yeah, but I knew that already," I tell him. Dada give me a look and I laugh at him. Dada smiles and looks at the road.

"Silly boy," Dad comments, driving toward the square. I fall back in my seat and smile, the anxiety from group disappearing as Dad makes lames joke the whole way to the square.


	49. The Home Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year from the von Hohenheim-Elrics!   
> *Insert cheesy Christmas card with a picture of the boys with their dad here*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up - there's talk of self-harm in this chapter as well as a mention of suicide and a night terror scene. You have been warned.

I sit up in bed, unable to fall asleep. Even though Dad told me, like, a thousand times that the home visit tomorrow evening isn't a big deal, I'm anxious about it. I mean, I'm anxious about everything, but still. If she thinks it's appropriate, Mrs. Davis has the power to remove us from our home if the visit doesn't go well. If she thinks Dada can't handle being a parent, she can take us away – just like that. That thought alone is enough to give me enough anxiety to keep me up for weeks. On top of all that shit, me and Al aren't sleeping together tonight. Dr. Hughes suggested a while ago that it might be a good idea to try sleeping separately one night a week so we can slowly build up to being able to sleep alone when we're grown-up. Nights like these, where I can't sleep even though I really wanna, make me never wanna sleep alone. When Al's lying next to me, my anxiety is dulled. It's still there, but I feel it less 'cause I feel safe. I rub my eyes and moan softly, deciding to get up and get some water. I doubt water or getting out of bed will actually help me go to sleep, but at least I won't be just lying in bed if I get up. I grab my leg and put it on, standing up and walking out of my room. Picard hurries past me as I open the door, meowing loudly as he runs down the stairs. I shake my head and slowly walk down the stairs. Cats can be such spazes, I swear. I make it into the kitchen and turn the lights on, Picard sitting on the table like he was waiting for me. He meows again and I scowl at him.

"Shut up," I command tiredly, getting a cup out of the cabinet. Picard meows a third time and I roll my eyes. I turn on the sink and fill the cup half way so I'm not peeing the rest of the night, and Picard meows again. I glare at him and say, "Seriously, Captain, shut up." I drink the water and throw the cup in the sink, Picard hopping off the table and meowing loudly at me. He hurries to the doorway and my brow furrows.

"Is something wrong?" I ask, Picard running toward the stairs. That's when I hear a terrified scream coming from upstairs. "Shit," I mutter, jogging up the stairs. Picard races into my room and I follow him, Al kicking and screaming in bed. I hurry over and turn on the lamp by his bed, Al's eyes open in a terrified stare. Oh, shit. It's a night terror. Al hasn't had one of these in a while. Dada was actually starting to think he outgrew them 'cause he hasn't had one since the beginning of the school year. But if he's kicking and screaming with his eyes wide open, he's totally having a night terror. The bedwetting alarm starts to go off and I dart out of the room. I practically run to Dad's room and shake him, Dad sitting up and looking at me.

"Uh, what?" Dad says tiredly.

"Dada, Al's having a night terror," I tell him in a rush. "His eyes are wide open so I know it's not a bad dream. He's peeing the bed." Dada nods and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Mmm, okay," Dad yawns. "I'll go with you." Dada checks his phone really quick before getting up and we leave his room together. Picard is in my doorway, meowing anxiously. Poor Picard doesn't know the difference between nightmares, night terrors, and anxiety attacks the way people do. All he knows is that Al's scared and he can't help. What Picard doesn't know is that me and Dada really can't help either. Dad walks over to Al's bed, Al still kicking and screaming and crying. He turns off the alarm and sits down on the edge of Al's bed, slowly pulling Al's trashing body closer to his.

"Al," Dada whispers. "Al, Daddy knows you're scared but it's okay. You're safe, honey. It's okay." Al's still screaming, but he's not kicking anymore. I'm honestly not really sure what a night terror is. I know it's not a dream 'cause it happens in a different stage of sleep, but I don't know why they happen. Maybe we think of something really scary when we're asleep and that's why we freak out. I don't know. All I know is that night terrors suck 'cause all Dada can do is wait it out. He can't pull me or Al out of one when they happen, even though we're kicking and crying and screaming. There's nothing he can do but wait and it sucks. Dad cuddles Al close, petting his hair and whispering softly. Soon, Al stops screaming and Dada sighs in relief.

"Is it over?" I ask, walking over.

"I think so," Dada replies. "Al, Alphonse. Wake up, sweetie." Al moans and stirs, blinking until his eyes open.

"Daddy?" He asks tiredly. Dada smiles warmly at him.

"Buddy, let's go potty," Dad suggests gently. "You wet the bed." Al yawns, clearly too tired to get upset. He nods but stays laying on top of Dad, too comfortable to move.

"Dad, you might have to carry him," I say, rubbing my eyes 'cause they're all itchy. God; suddenly I'm so tired.

"I have no problem with that," Dada replies, pulling Al on to his lap. "Let's get up, honey." Al wraps his arms around Dad's neck and Dad stands up. He walks over to me and kisses my hair.

"Go back to sleep, Ed," he instructs softly.

"Can Al sleep with me?" I ask. Dad nods.

"That's fine," Dada replies. "We'll be right back." Dada carries Al out of the room and I crawl back into bed. I feel Picard jump onto my bed, pushing his cold nose into my arm. I lazily pet him, Picard purring loudly as he lays down next to me. After a few minutes, I can hear the floor creak and the bed shift as Dada puts Al in bed right next to me. Instantly, Al cuddles up next to me and goes to sleep. I smile and shut my eyes, Al's warm body finally calming that anxiety I was feeling so I can get some sleep, too.

The whole day's one big blur. I can't remember school and now we're at Dr. Hughes' office. I've been so anxious all day 'cause Mrs. Davis is coming over after therapy this evening. Mrs. Davis is super nice and I do like her, but her coming over gives me anxiety 'cause anytime I think of Mrs. Davis, I think of the week after abuse ended that Al and I spent in foster care. I think about being separated from Dada and being so scared that the state wouldn't think Dad was a good parent and take us away forever. I remember that miserable week of my life that led up to one of the worst summers of my whole entire life. And yeah, I know I'm only sixteen but I've had a lot of fucking terrible summers in that time. The summer after Mom died, the summer Dada got married to her, the summer after she got arrested…. Do I really need to go on? I don't really like to talk about how crappy my life has been 'cause I don't want to seem like a whiny baby or someone who wants to have pity parties all the time, but if I'm gonna be honest my life has fucking sucked. I mean, I've had some good stuff happen but on the whole, my life has sucked. Mrs. Davis' home visits tend to make me remember all those terrible things and even though she's really nice, I hate seeing her.

We wait with Dada in the waiting room for a few minutes, a few kids asking to play with them. I'm pretty tired so I tell them I'll play next week. Al decides to play though, but does quiet things like LEGOs or coloring. Dad's anxiously on his phone. He doesn't look anxious, but I can tell he is. This whole home visit thing has got him all freaked out, just like it freaks me and Al out. I doubt Dad's scared that Mrs. Davis is gonna take us away like me and Al are, but he doesn't want to get another less than stellar review. See, none of Dada's home visits have gone particularly well. I mean, it's not like he's failed them or is even seen as unfit. It's just that Dad can never really improve on what Mrs. Davis wants him to. Like, she wants the house to be clean every time she visits but Dada can never keep up with it. He's always got an appointment or lab or grading so it's easy for him to fall behind. Or like when Dada and Mrs. Davis talk about stuff, Mrs. Davis is always concerned about Dada's "emotional availability" and his guilt complex. So, while his home visits never go super poorly, he never gets a super good report, either. I think subconsciously Dad might be scared that one more visit with no improvement might be the last straw for Mrs. Davis, but I don't know that for sure.

"Ed, Al, come on back," Dr. Hughes calls from the hallway. I stand up and Al does, too, taking my hand. We walk back to Dr. Hughes' office and he smiles at us as we sit down.

"Happy Friday," Dr. Hughes says. "Weekend plans?" I shake my head.

"No, but we have a home visit with Mrs. Davis today after therapy," I tell him.

"Really?" Dr. Hughes questions, a brow raised. I nod and he goes on, "I thought you had one right as the school year started. Why would she have one so soon?" I shrug, starting to get anxious all over again.

"Dada thinks it's 'cause the house was super dirty and he seemed overwhelmed with everything last time," I reply. "I don't know for sure, though."

"I don't think Dada ever really improves on what she tells him to, either," Al butts in softly. "It's not like he doesn't try, but gets sidetracked with work and whatever's going on in our lives that he can't work on what she tells him to work on."

"Boys, on some level do you think that your dad might use work as a way to avoid working on some of the harder parts of recovering as a family?" Dr. Hughes asks. I blink. That's a weird question to ask. Why would Dada, the guy who's rooting for us to get better the most, use something like work to avoid listening to a social worker and helping us get better? It doesn't make any sense.

"What?" I question.

"What I mean is do you feel like your dad gets overwhelmed with everything that has to be done and doesn't know how to fix it so he tends to retreat to doing things he knows how to do?" Dr. Hughes clarifies.

"Well, I don't know, maybe," Al answers. "Don't all people do that sometimes?"

"Yes, we do," Dr. Hughes agrees. "It's always easier and safer to do things we know how to do and that we're good at rather than attempting something that seems huge, complicated, or even scary."

"Yeah, but Dad wants to help us," I cut in. "I know he does."

"Your father does want to help, you're right," Dr. Hughes agrees calmly. "But I feel like the reason the house can never stay clean or the reason your dad can't seem to work through his own feelings is simply because he doesn't know how. Then Mrs. Davis puts pressure on him to improve and he just shuts down instead of trying to improve himself. Has your dad ever considered family therapy?"

"Family therapy?" I ask. "Like, we sit down with Dada and talk about feelings and shit like we do with you?"

"Basically," Dr. Hughes explains. "I can refer you to an excellent family therapist that deals with trauma. Do you think that would be something your dad would be interested in?"

"Would it help him sleep at night?" Al asks. "Do you think it would help Dad feel better?"

"I do," Dr. Hughes answers. "I also firmly believe that it might be another resource to help your family heal as a unit." Dr. Hughes walks over to his desk and opens a drawer. He digs through it before shutting it and walking back over. He sits down and holds out a business card to me. I take it and read,

"Dr. Sophie Bergmann. Adolescent, young adult, and family therapist." I look at Dr. Hughes and ask, "She's good?" Dr. Hughes nods.

"The best I know," he answers. "Her office is about thirty minutes away near Morton, but it's not too bad if you only make the trip once a month or so which is about all you'd need."

"Dr. Hughes, d'you really think Dada will go to family therapy?" Al asks softly. "He really isn't very good at talking about his feelings and therapy might be scary for him. He might just shut down more."

"He very well could, Al, but I think it's worth a shot," Dr. Hughes replies. "Your whole family needs to recovery from the abuse and I really think family therapy is a good next step. Your dad isn't ready for his own one-on-one therapy I don't think but I do think he's ready for family therapy. Your dad knows that sometimes we have to do scary or uncomfortable things in order to get results. He might be ready now to try." I nod. I guess that makes sense. Officer Mustang told Dada about Dr. Hughes about a month after the abuse ended. He figured that me and Al needed someone like that to talk to about what happened and knew that Dr. Hughes was the best. Back then, though, me and Al weren't ready for therapy but eventually we reached the point where we were. We did it, even though we were scared about it. Maybe Dada's in the same place we were two summers ago and if he's not, maybe he's close.

"We'll try," I tell him. "I think we're ready to." Dr. Hughes smiles – that same proud smile Dada has sometimes – and I get all warm and sugary on the inside.

"Good job, buddy," he praises. "I'm very proud of you both."

The rest of therapy was art stuff. While we drew and painted and shit, we talked about stuff. I was kinda surprised that Al was talking a lot about his new friend Hannah. He told Dr. Hughes about how he's been sharing secrets with her and wants to trust her, but doesn't 'cause she told that bitch Nicole one of his deep, dark secrets. I figured since Al is, well, Al he was just hurt that Hannah would do that to him. Turns out he's got more sense than I give him credit for sometimes. See, sometimes Al's kindness and patience can get him into trouble 'cause other people will take advantage of it. He'll be friends with the wrong people who end up hurting him by bullying him or spreading mean stories or some shit like that. I guess maybe he's learning from his mistakes, despite his gentle and naturally trusting heart. I don't know. All I know is that I'm super proud of him for talking a lot in therapy today. Since admitting to having issues with cutting, he's been kinda quiet just in general but he's been really quiet in therapy, too. Now therapy's over and we're getting drive thru before going home. Mrs. Davis is coming over at 5:30 and it's almost 5:00 now so there's not a ton of time before she's at our house. Dad's been pretty quiet all day and I pull the business card out of my coat pocket. I guess I need to tell him about this family therapy thing.

"Dad?" I say, Dada glancing over at me.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Hughes gave us a card for a family therapist if you're interested," I say casually.

"Family therapist?" Dad questions.

"Yeah, you know, a therapist that'll talk to all three of us in the same session and help us all work through feelings," I explain. Dada stops at a stop light and I give him the card. He reads it and looks over at me.

"Dr. Hughes suggested we try this?" Dada asks me. I nod, Al leaning forward from the backseat.

"I think it might help, Dada," Al adds. "Dr. Hughes thinks it will, too." Dada sighs as the light turns green and pulls away from the light.

"Maybe it is time I finally talk to someone," Dada says softly. "After my dealing with guilt class ended, I debated on whether or not therapy would be beneficial to me. This might the opportunity to try it out while still helping you boys. I'll call her and get an appointment, okay?" Al grins ear-to-ear and I nod. Maybe Dada really is ready. I think he might me if he's okay with going to family therapy. I'm proud of him, I think. I don't really know. It's a weird feeling. But maybe this family therapy thing might help me to not resent Dada anymore. That'd be nice.

"Good!" Al cries happily. "Dad, I really think it'll help you feel better." Dada smiles at him from the rearview mirror.

"I certainly hope it will, Al," Dada agrees, the car falling silent the rest of the ride home.

Nobody really felt like eating. The food Dad bought is still in the greasy, drive-thru paper bags completely untouched. We're all nervous about the home visit. The house isn't clean, Dada still works too much, and me and Al are pretty much in the same place (if not worse considering Al's cutting and in the low place) we were at her last visit. We go inside after Dad parks the car in the garage, the air around us tense and silent. We've only got a few minutes before Mrs. Davis gets here and she's always on time. Always. Very punctual. This is, like, the worst way to spend a Friday night. Most teenagers are getting ready to go out with friends or party or some shit but me and Al get to spend it under a microscope. We get to spend our Friday night anxious messes because our social worker had a home visit with us. Barf. Me and Al go and sit on the couch, Picard jumping up on Al's lap. Dada's fumbling around in the kitchen with dishes. I can hear him clanging glass and pots together in the sink. I bet he's trying to make the huge stack of the dishes look less big by rearranging them.

"Ed?" Al asks softly.

"What?" I reply.

"What if Mrs. Davis takes us away again?" Al whimpers, clearly scared.

"I…. I don't know." I sigh and shake my head. "I don't know." Al's lip trembles.

"I don't know, either," Al replies, his voice shaking. The doorbell rings and me and Al both jump a little. Picard runs off Al's lap to go hide, Dada dropping whatever he's holding in the kitchen. I swallow nervously. This is it. Dad hurries to the door and opens it.

"Hi, Mrs. Davis," Dada greets, all flustered. "Good to see you." I can hear him step backward, allowing Mrs. Davis inside. I can already smell the soft smell of her pretty skin, but it doesn't make me feel any better. If anything, it just makes me feel shittier.

"Good to see you, too, Victor," Mrs. Davis replies warmly. I can hear them walk toward the living room after Dada shuts the door. I look over my shoulder, Mrs. Davis standing nearby. She's still the short, older woman she's always been. She's nicely dressed like always and her curly hair is tied back. She smiles at me.

"Hello, Edward," she says. "How are you?" I swallow anxiously, trying to shove down the barf that really wants to escape.

"Uh, fine," I answer, though I feel like I'm lying.

"And Alphonse," Mrs. Davis addresses calmly, "I think you've grown a bit. That's good. You okay?" Al nods mutely.

"We're both okay," I begin, the rehearsed lines I've created after two years of home visits spilling out of me. I think Mrs. Davis knows I say pretty much the same thing every time but she never says anything about it. "We're eating three meals a day and can finish most of our food now. We're sleeping better at night, but our anxiety has been rough lately. School's going well and we have friends."

"Sounds about right," Mrs. Davis chuckles, shaking her head. She looks around and turns to Dada. "Victor? Let's talk away from the boys now." This is how the home visits always go. Mrs. Davis looks us over, I say my rehearsed lines, and she tells Dada that they need to talk in private. From what I can gather, she always briefly inspects the house then her and Dad have a long talk about how he's doing, how we're doing, and what her concerns are. I think her concerns are always the same, but I don't know. Dad tries not to stress us out with that stuff.

"Shall we go to the dining room?" Dada suggests, obviously nervous as his hands twitch at his sides. Mrs. Davis nods.

"That's fine," she replies. "Boys, we'll talk a little later if you feel up to it." I nod and watch as Dada leads Mrs. Davis to the dining room. I exhale loudly and fall back on to the couch.

"Oh, God," I breathe, still really sick to my stomach. I rest my head on the back of the couch, Al scooting closer to me.

"Ed?" Al asks.

"What?" I ask, my eyes shut.

"Have I really grown?" I open my eyes and look over at him. His big hazel eyes are staring at me and my brow furrows.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly.

"Mrs. Davis said I've grown," Al says. "Sig said it, too, a while ago and so did Dr. Marcoh. I can see Dr. Marcoh saying that 'cause we haven't seen him since, like, last school year but I don't think I've really grown enough that Sig or Mrs. Davis would notice 'cause they see me more than Dr. Marcoh. What d'you think?" I blink at him, really surprised that Al's talking about this. I wasn't expecting him to talk at all for a while 'cause of the home visit. I really though the anxiety would choke the voice right out of him. Guess I was wrong. I shake my head and shrug.

"Geeze, I don't know," I answer. "I figure that's just shit that adults tell kids when they don't know what else to say to 'em. You know; like how grown-ups always ask each other about the weather. I think it's just filler grown-ups use when they don't know what to say." Al nods.

"I think so, too," Al agrees quietly.

"Why'd you ask?" I question, genuinely curious. Al shrugs.

"I guess 'cause talking about something like that helps me feel less anxious about what's going on in the other room," Al tells me. I smile fondly at him.

"Very smart," I praise. "Good job, buddy." Al grins proudly and I lean over so I can ruffle his hair. He giggles and I shift in my seat. "Can I tell you something?" Al nods.

"Yeah," he replies.

"I don't know why, but I have this feeling that everything's gonna go okay," I tell him. "Like, Dada's gonna go to family therapy with us and if that's not a step toward what Mrs. Davis wants to see, I don't know what is."

"I guess that's true," Al ponders, his hands in between his legs. "Think she'll be mad about the house being messy?" I nod.

"Probably," I say softly.

"Mad enough to take us away?" Al asks me, his voice shaking.

"I don't know," I reply, my heart starting to beat funny.

"What would happen to us if she did take us away, Brother?" Al asks, obviously on the verge of panicking. Even though I can hear the distress in his voice and I'm still pretty anxious, too, I can feel myself clenching my jaw. I don't say anything, Al going on, "We're a lot older than we were before. We'd probably get moved all the time and get stuck in the system until we age out! And you'd age out first, so what would happen to me?"

"I don't know," I say softly, Al starting to hyperventilate.

"I know what'd happen," Al wheezes, clearly panicked. "I'd get moved from home to home, never seeing you or Dada again! Oh, God, what if she splits us up when she moves us!? I don't think I could make it if we got separated! What would we do, Brother? What would we do?"

"I said I don't know!" I snap, cutting Al off. I glare at him and say, "Shut up already!" Al's lip trembles and I stand up suddenly. Al's shaking violently, clearly upset and all I can do is glare at him.

"Ed?" He asks timidly.

"I hope Mrs. Davis takes you away! I wouldn't have to deal with you anymore if she did!" I yell at him, Al's eyes widening. I cover my mouth, Al just staring at me. I shake my head, my throat feeling like rubber. "I-I didn't mean that," I say behind my hand. Al blinks, a couple tears rolling down his face. He stands up and walks passed me. I just stand there, my mouth still covered by my hand. I can hear Al climbing the stairs and I turn around. I don't know why I said what I said. That's the last thing I want! I don't want Mrs. Davis to take either of us away! I want Al to stay with me and Dada until we're all grown-up and maybe even after that. I don't know when me and Al will be ready to leave home considering all we've been through. I hurry toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.

"Al!" I call worriedly. "Al, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I really didn't mean what I said. Where are you?" I pause in the hallway, heaving breathing coming from the bathroom. I hurry over to the bathroom and knock frantically.

"Go away!" Al cries, obviously sobbing from behind the door.

"Al, I'm really sorry," I say, practically begging. "You've got to believe me. I don't want you to get taken away! I want you to stay here with me and Dada until you're all grown-up and then if you need to stay, you can! We're a family, Alphie and I don't want anyone to ruin that!" I can hear Al crying and I press my forehead against the door. "We're a team, remember? You and me. We're in it together, for better or for worse. My anxiety tricked me into being mean, just like it's tricked you into thinking that Mrs. Davis is gonna take us away when I don't think she really will. I'm sorry I snapped at you. Will you please come out now?"

"I-I c-c-can't," Al whimpers.

"Why not?" I ask.

"I c-cut, Ed," Al admits to me softly. I can hear him dry sobbing, heaving loudly and I sigh. I shake my head, putting a hand on the door.

"Al, c'mon, buddy," I say softly. He doesn't say anything and continues to sob so I say, "If you can't come out, can I come in?"

"You'll h-hate me," Al cries pathetically. A lump forms in my throat and I shake my head.

"No, Al, I won't," I assure him. "Please let me in. I wanna help." Al doesn't say anything so I shake my head, my forehead rubbing against the wood. "Al," I say, my voice shaking, "I'm sorry about what I said. Really, I am. Please let me in." There's a pause and all I can hear is Al crying from behind the door.

"O-Okay," Al manages to say. I sigh in relief and open the door. I quickly go inside and engulf Al in a big hug, Al slowly hugging me back. The blood from his arms stain my clothes but I don't care. If it wasn't for me, Al wouldn't have cut today at all. What I said is the reason he hurt himself and I know that.

"Shh," I comfort gently, petting his hair. "It's okay. I'm here. It's okay. You're okay. You're okay." Al cries into my chest for a little while and we just stand in the bathroom for a bit until he calms down. Now that he's done crying, I pull away and ask, "Can I help fix your arms?" Al nods and sits down on the edge of the tub. I smile warmly at him and grab the first-aid kit. I have Al roll up his sleeves and sigh in relief; it's not that bad. Thank God. I was really worried it would be like the last time he cut when there was blood everywhere and he got himself deep and in lots of different shapes and sizes. This time it's only a couple small, but kinda deep, cuts on his right arm.

"This isn't too bad," I comment. I pour some hydrogen peroxide on a cotton ball and dab it on the cuts. Al winces, not looking me in the eye. "You okay?" I ask as I work. Al shrugs weakly.

"I don't know," he answers softly, still not looking at me. "I'm never really okay after I cut." I nod.

"I know," I agree. "The after part of cutting feels so shitty. I wish I could have just stopped after the first time."

"When did you cut for the first time?" Al asks me quietly. I sigh.

"Annie Ferris' house," I reply. Al blinks.

"Really?" He questions. I nod. "It started that soon after she got arrested?" I nod again.

"Yup," I answer. Annie Ferris was our second foster parent that we stayed with after the abuse ended. She was this nice, middle aged lady and we were her first placement she ever had. "Remember that day we went to the park with her? Right before we got to go home with Dad?" Al nods.

"I remember I peed my pants and got teased by the other kids," Al comments. "I also remember that you basically read the whole time we were there."

"D'you remember that morning?" I ask him. Al frowns in thought.

"I was protesting," Al says, clearly trying to remember. "I decided to lay in bed until we could go home. I figured a hunger strike might speed up the process. Stupid, but I was only eleven. Anyways, I remember that you came up to check on me and got really mad. You yelled at me and made me cry and Annie made you stand in the corner. You had a panic attack." I nod.

"That's right," I affirm. I put a band-aid on one of the cuts and go on, "Well, it must have been a good day for peeing your pants 'cause I peed mine during my panic attack. I took a shower after I was calmed down and when I was done, I saw the razor Annie shaved with just sitting on the edge of the tub. I remember…. I remember thinking that I could hurt myself with it. I don't know why that thought popped into my head, though. I guess it was 'cause of how shitty I felt on the inside. I pretty much hated myself so why not just hurt myself, too? So, I, uh, did. The razor was pretty dull, though."

"Oh, my God," Al breathes. "You said you scrapped it on the wall. It looked like a rug burn. I remember."

"I lied about it, yeah," I admit. "I didn't wanna get in trouble but I'm, like, 90% Annie knew I was lying about it. Never said anything, though. Just told me that I wasn't a bad boy and that I shouldn't hurt myself. She was pretty smart." Al nods and I finish putting band-aids on his arms and smile at him. "All better, see?" Al nods again and smiles weakly.

"Thank you, Brother," he says. I stand up to put everything away and Al grabs my hand.

"What?" I ask.

"That first time…. Why'd you keep doing it if it made you feel so terrible?" Al asks. I shrug.

"Why do you keep doing it? Why does anyone do that to themselves?" I ask. Al's brow furrows and he looks away. "Look," I sigh, "This whole cutting thing is a butt-ton more complicated than a lot of people realize or care to admit. Yeah, it makes us feel like shitty people after we do it but the worst part about it is that we already felt like shitty people long before we took a blade to our skin. So, yeah, the cutting thing makes bad feelings worse, but the bad feelings were already there to begin with. We start doing it because of how shitty we feel, stupidly thinking that somehow cutting ourselves will help or even 'punish' us when the truth is we don't need to be punished." Al looks up at me and I shake my head.

"Brother?"

"We…. We're not bad boys, Al," I tell him softly, sitting down next to him. I sigh and continue, "I think I'm beginning to believe that I'm not bad for the first time in my life since I was six. I think that's part of why I stopped cutting. I mean, how it made you and Dada and me feel was definitely a huge factor but I think another reason was I'm slowly beginning to believe what Dad and Dr. Hughes say about me. I'm beginning to believe that I'm not a bad boy, that I'm not a fuck up, and that I'm not a waste of space. I don't know what I am, but I'm not those things."

"I know what you are," Al says. I smile weakly.

"Yeah?" I prompt. Al nods.

"You're my brother," Al answers. "You're Dada's son and Mom's son. You're a friend and a really good person. You're smart and nice and funny. You're who I want to be." I smile warmly and rest my head on his shoulder.

"You're all those things, too," I tell him. "And soon, I think you'll stop cutting 'cause you're gonna start to believe those things, too." Al nods and we sit there for a minute.

"I wanna go change my shirt," Al announces softly. "Get it in the wash so it doesn't stain." I nod.

"I'll start the washing machine for you," I tell him.

"Good 'cause I don't know how," Al laughs lightly.

"Wanna learn how?" I ask. Al nods.

"Yeah, okay," Al chirps. "I wanna so I can start helping when I wet the bed."

"D'you feel like those alarm-things are even working?" I ask him. "Like, you're still doing it at least four nights a week or more and we've had them for almost two and a half months." Al shrugs, blush crawling across his face.

"No," he answers, embarrassed. "I think it's worse, even. Like almost as bad as when the abuse ended and I had to…." Al trails of and shakes his head. "You know." I nod.

"Yeah, I know," I say. "Well, I think they could still work if we give it some more time."

"How much more?" Al asks me. "I've been wetting the bed since I was a little kid. It's never ended. I've worn diapers to bed for years and tried the alarms before and nothing's ever helped. Maybe I'm doomed to do this forever." I shake my head.

"I don't think so, buddy," I tell him. "I think it's all temporary. I know it sucks, I still pee the bed too, but I don't think it's forever." Al nods.

"God, I hope so," Al sighs. "I don't think I'd get married if I was still wetting the bed." I look sympathetically at him.

"Don't worry," I assure him. "By the time you're all grown up, this whole bed wetting thing will be a thing of the past. All this stuff will be. Promise." Al grins. I pat his leg and stand up again. "C'mon. We need to get your shirt washed otherwise it'll stain." Al nods and gets up, too. We go to our room and Al gets a clean shirt and then we go down the stairs into the basement. Usually, I hate going into the basement but I can do it now. When the abuse first ended, I couldn't go down stairs without freaking out. Now I can, but I don't like it. It gets me all anxious and reminds me of all the time I spent locked up in the dark as a little kid. We go into the laundry room and I guide Al to the washing machine.

"Okay, so this pretty easy," I tell him. "You just toss the shirt into the machine, pour the detergent where it's supposed to go, and choose all the settings. Once you're done with that, you just start it."

"So, what settings should we use, Ed?" Al asks. I frown. I actually don't know. We're trying to keep his shirt sleeves from staining. I think I once heard Granny mention that cold water gets blood out of clothes.

"Uh, normal cycle with cold water," I tell him, trying to sound confident about it. "That'll get the blood out and prevent a stain." Al nods, clearly believing me.

"Okay," he says, dropping his shirt into the machine and switching the setting from warm water to cold. "Where's the soap go?" I take his hand and guide it to the right spot.

"Here, okay?" I instruct. Al nods and pours the detergent, a fond smile spreading across my face. "Good job. Now, just close the lid and we can start the wash cycle. Easy, right?" Al nods, a smile on his face.

"Yeah!" He replies happily. "Thanks, Brother!"

"You're welcome," I chuckle. "C'mon. Let's get outta here. The basement still gives me the creeps." Al nods and we walk back upstairs. I pause, looking at the dining room doorway. I wonder what Dada and Mrs. Davis are talking about. I look around, swallowing hard, and tip-toe over. Al watches, whispering,

"What are you doing?" I shush him and keep going. I lean up against the wall next to the doorway and listen;

"Well, I'd say things have progressed a little since we last saw each other," Mrs. Davis says.

"I really have been trying to help my boys, but it seems to get harder every day," I hear Dada tell her. "I can't seem to keep up with the house, even two years after everything happened, I still can't cook, and I can't even do laundry. I'm not sure I see the progression, unfortunately." I can hear Mrs. Davis chuckle.

"I'd expect you'd say something like that," Mrs. Davis tells him. "Victor, sometimes change starts deep within someone, so deep that we can't see it 'cause it hasn't reached the surface yet. Your boys are changin', Victor, and so are you. I know your house is messy, but it is cleaner than the last time I was here even with the addition of the cat. I know you mentioned that Alphonse is struggling with self-harm now, but believe it or not I can see the ripples of change in that little boy. They're both making the climb to recovery. I know it's hard to see and it's challenging and frustrating and can feel fruitless, but I promise you're doing all the right things. I think family therapy is a great next step for your family." I back away from the doorway, deciding that I've eavesdropped enough, when I sneeze loudly. I cringe, the talking in the next room abruptly stopping. I quickly hurry away as footsteps approach.

"God bless you, Edward," calls Mrs. Davis. I turn around, chuckle nervously, and wave.

"Sorry, Dad," I apologize, feeling guilty for listening in. Dada just shakes his head and laughs at me.

"Silly boy," he teases, Al walking over to me.

"You boys have anything in particularly you'd like to address?" Mrs. Davis asks us both.

"I don't think so," I tell her. "Sorry again for listening. I shouldn't have."

"That's alright, sugar," Mrs. Davis says, walking over to me. She takes my hand, her soft black skin rubbing against mine. I can smell the comforting and sweet scent of her vanilla and sugar lotion and she says, "I hope what you heard brought you some comfort, sweetie. I know it's hard for you to see, but you and your brother have made so much progress in the last two and a half years and I'm very pleased with how things are going."

"You're not mad at Dada for being messy?" Al asks timidly.

"Now, why would you think that, little oat?" Mrs. Davis asks. Al blinks and she smiles, still holding my hand. "I'm not a woman prone to anger, Al. Never have been. As long as the house isn't dirty and you boys are safe and relatively happy, I can deal with a cluttered house with a sink full of dishes. Being a single parent is hard, I get that. Your daddy's got the important things figured out and that's what matters. Everything else will fall into place in time." Al grins and Mrs. Davis reaches over to ruffle his hair. "Such a cute little boy you have, Victor." Dad nods.

"They're both very handsome, aren't they?" Dada agrees. "Al actually takes after Trisha. I don't know where he got his trait for his eyes changing color, though." Mrs. Davis nods.

"Well, Victor, I think I've gone over everything," Mrs. Davis says. "Unless you've got something on your mind you still want to go over, I'll call you in a few weeks to check in and then we can talk about scheduling our next visit."

"I think we've gone over everything," Dad says. "I think I talked about everything I wanted to discuss with you. If I think of something, I'll call you." Mrs. Davis nods and lets go of my hand.

"Okay, then I'll see you all in a few months," Mrs. Davis tells us. "Let's aim for the beginning of the summer for the next visit, unless a crisis pops up."

"Goodness, I hope we don't have a crisis in between then and now," Dada says.

"Uh, Mrs. Davis?" I pip up, "What counts as a crisis?"

"If one of you boys runs away, commits some sort of crime, becomes disruptive in school, attempts, or heaven forbid actually commit suicide," Mrs. Davis explains. "For instance, if you started to start fires again, Ed, that would be a family crisis. Or if Al started fighting regularly in school, that would be a crisis that would require my attention. If your father started dating someone that you didn't like and made you uncomfortable, I would even consider that a crisis considering your family's history. You boys know you can call me just like your father can, right?" I nod, Al nodding, too.

"Yeah," I answer.

"Good boy," Mrs. Davis praises. I grin at her and she turns to Dada. They shake hands and Mrs. Davis says, "Thank you again, Victor."

"No, thank you," Dad insists. "I'll walk you to the door." I wave at Mrs. Davis and watch as Dad walks her to the door. I quickly glance over at Al who behinds over and sighs loudly.

"Relieved?" I tease, Al nodding.

"Oh, yeah," he replies as Dada shuts the door. Dad sighs loudly and turns to look at us.

"Ice cream?" Dada suggests.

"I think that's a good idea," I say. Al nods rapidly next to me.

"Yeah, I need some ice cream, Dada," Al says. "We need to do something that more closely resembles Friday night."

"Oh!" I cry. "Let's watch movies when we get back! That'll be fun." Dad nods.

"Good idea, Brother," he praises me. I grin ear to ear and Dada gestures to the kitchen with his head. "Let's get moving, boys." Al and I both nod and hurry to the door that goes to the garage inside the kitchen. We get into the car and Dada starts it, the garage door opening.

"You both did well," Dad praises, backing out of the driveway. Al fidgets nervously and I sigh; we have to tell Dad that Al cut. We have to. It's part of the contract we signed with Dr. Hughes a couple weeks ago. I just wish we didn't.

"Dad, I have to tell you something," Al says quietly, Dada driving out of the neighborhood.

"What, sweetie?" Dada asks.

"I cut while you were talking to Mrs. Davis," Al admits, obviously ashamed. I look over at Dada, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"Are you alright?" Dada questions softly. Al nods.

"I only did it a little," Al tells Dad. "And Ed got me all cleaned up and even taught me to use the washing machine. I put my shirt in and started the washing machine all by myself."

"Al, that's great," Dada praises. "I'm so proud, honey. I've been meaning to teach you myself and I'm so happy Ed taught you. You're growing up so much." Al smiles but his face quickly falls.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I know I shouldn't hurt myself. I'm sorry."

"Al, it takes a lot of courage to admit that you did it at all," Dad tells him. "You're right – you shouldn't hurt yourself, but I'm proud that you told me you did it. I am so, so proud of both you." Al grins again and I elbow Dad in the arm.

"Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream," I chant, Dada chuckling at me.

"Yes, Edward," Dada laughs. "Let's get some ice cream. Get our minds off of this whole home visit thing." Dad drives to the square, all anxiety about Mrs. Davis' home visit completely forgotten by the time we get to the square.


	50. Long, Forgotten Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, guys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - this chapter contains child sexual abuse. You have been warned.

I'm lying in bed, sort of asleep sort of not, in a room I don't recognize. I mean, I kinda do, but I can't really remember. It's almost like I've seen the room in a movie or something. I don't know. What I do know is that I don't know where I am. I'm getting scared and try to sit up, but my body won't respond. I'm stuck. I start breathing heavily, someone moving beside me. I shift my eyes over to find Al curled up next to me on the tiny twin bed. Neither of us have a blanket. I think we're lying on a trash bag. Al looks way younger than he should. I think he's, like, ten. Weird. I try to wrap my arms around him so I'll feel safe but again, my body doesn't move. I whimper, tears pricking in the back of my eyes as the door creaks open. Al sits up instantly, beginning to shake. I wanna call out to him, comfort him somehow, but I can't make sound come out of my mouth. All I can do is open it and shut it. I can, however, somehow see a dark, big figure approaching the bed even though I can't move my head to look up. I think it's a boy. I don't know for sure, though. The boy seems to ignore me and turns on the light next to the bed. It is a boy. He's big and tan and has gray eyes that I think I recognize but it's hard to tell in the dim light. The boy towers over Al, Al whimpering violently. I can hear pee start to run down the trash bag as Al quivers, clearly terrified.

"Well, looks like Mrs. Porter was right," the older boy mocks. "You and your brother ain't goin' anywhere." I see a massive hand move toward Al's stomach and two big fingers slip underneath the waistband of his pajama pants. I wanna be outraged and demand to know what the fuck that guy thinks he's doing, but I can't. I can't move and I can't talk. All I can do is watch. I feel like I've heard someone say this, or something like this, before but I really can't remember. Al starts crying as the older boy pulls down his pants.

"D-Dada's g-g-gonna b-bring us home b-b-before my b-b-birthday," Al whimpers, the older boy shaking his head.

"No, he's not," the boy says darkly, fingers slipping underneath Al's underwear which by now are soaked completely. "He's never coming back for you. You're just a worthless, piece of shit foster kid now. Nobody gives a damn about you and your dad's never gonna come get you. He doesn't care. He never did, trust me." Al tries to push the boy's hand away, but years of malnourishment make it impossible.

"St-Stop," Al begs. "I d-don't w-w-want…." He trails off, the boy shushing him gently.

"It's okay," the boy assures him, pulling his underwear down. "It's okay. You're fine. This is our secret." I watch in horror as this boy touches Al all over, Al just silently crying beside me. He isn't just touching Al's soft, but boney tummy, either. He's touching Al's private parts. That's something Dada had drilled in our heads to be something that should never happen. I want to do something to stop it, but I still can't move. I'm forced to watch as this boy molests my little brother, even forcing Al to touch the boy's private parts. After what feels like years, I find that I can move my head. I lift it up and without even planning on saying something I say;

"Al? Are you okay?" Somehow, I can still see the boy and my voice sounded like it came from two different places. The boy freezes, glaring at Al until Al nods.

"Y-Yes," Al whispers softly. The older boy quietly pulls everything back up and I watch him sneak out, Al saying, "I wet the bed." It's then that I see myself standing in the corner. Well, sitting on the floor by the corner. Pieces are starting to come together. I think I'm in the Porter's house. That's why the room looked familiar. I think I was supposed to be standing in the corner as punishment for wetting the bed earlier that night. I guess I fell asleep, though. I see the thirteen-year-old me stand up tiredly and walk over to the bed. I watch myself sit down next to Al, Al crawling up into my younger self's lap.

"I can't hold you for long," I tell him gently. "If Mrs. Porter catches me out of the corner, I'll be in so much trouble." Al nods, his little fingers gripping on to my clothes.

"I know," he replies, laying his head down on my shoulder. I rock him back and forth, Al crying softly, and slowly get him to go back to sleep. I watch my younger self put him back in the drenched bed and I can see in the dim light how upset I am. I wanna be able to do more for him, but I feel trapped. Mrs. Porter gave us very clear rules and helping Al change after wetting the bed is a no-no. I watch the thirteen-year-old me kiss Al's hair before walking back to the corner. I stare at myself, the little me chanting "I'm a bad boy" over and over again until his talking fades and I gasp loudly.

I'm sweating really bad and I sit up. I'm in my room at home, meaning all that was a dream. But, holy shit, it was a fucking weird dream. It felt so real; like it was a memory that I had forgotten about. But, God, it can't be a memory. If it is, then Al was molested by David when we lived with Mrs. Porter. The Porters were our first foster family. We only lived with them for two days before getting moved. I kinda let it slip to Dada that they were making us sleep on a trash bag so we got moved. The Porters fostered teenage boys, but agreed to foster Al 'cause Mrs. Davis didn't want us split up. They were fostering two teenage boys when we lived there, a seventeen-year-old boy named Tyler and a sixteen-year-old boy named David. I shake my head, Al sleeping beside me, and put my leg on. I need to talk to Dada. Maybe he can help me shake this terrible feeling I have that somehow that the dream is a long-forgotten memory. I get out of bed and hurry to Dad's room. I walk in and creep over to his bed, shaking him until he sits up.

"Uh, what's the matter?" Dada asks tiredly. Dada looks over at me and asks, "Did you have a bad dream?" I sit down next to him and shrug.

"I really don't know," I reply. "It wasn't bad, just really weird and unsettling."

"Wanna talk about it?" Dad questions.

"Yeah," I answer. "It felt like a long-lost memory and I really hope it's not." Dada looks at me and I sigh; "I was back at the Porters' house, but as me. Not as a thirteen-year-old. I was lying in bed and Al was next to me. I couldn't move or talk. I could move my eyes and somehow see things that were going on in the room. Guess 'cause it's a dream. I don't know. Anyways, in the dream one of the foster boys, David, came in and was talking to Al about how me and him were never going home and shit. Then he…. He pulled Al's clothes off and started to…. He…touched Al. You know, down there. Bad touch, Dad. Then, I could see myself as a thirteen-year-old standing in the corner 'cause I was being punished for peeing the bed and I asked Al if he was okay. The boy scared him into keeping what happened a secret so he said he was fine and the older boy pulled his pants back up. Al told me he wet the bed so my thirteen-year-old-self walked over and held him until he fell asleep and then I woke up. It felt so real, Dada. It's got me all sorts of freaked out."

"Ed," Dada says quietly. "That sounds horrible."

"I know," I reply. "And, like, it's terrible regardless if it's a memory or not. If it's a memory, well, then that means that one of the Porters' foster boys molested Al and if it's not a memory, my brain made up something absolutely disgusting to dream about."

"Have you had this dream before?" Dad asks.

"I think so," I reply. "It felt so familiar. I mean, part of that is 'cause it feels like a memory but I feel like I've had this dream before. No, I know I have. I just haven't been able to remember it so clearly until now. It always just made me feel uneasy or sick to my stomach when I'd have it before but I could never remember what I dreamed about."

"Ed, honey, this is really important," Dada informs me urgently. My brow furrows and

Dada asks, "Do you think Al would answer honestly if we asked him about this?" I shrug.

"I don't know," I answer. "I mean, poor Al may not remember this happening. God knows I didn't until I started dreaming about it. And what if it didn't? And we freak Al out for no reason?"

"Oh, sweetheart," Dad sighs sadly, pulling me closer. My heart beats funny and Dada goes on, "That boy, David, was caught molesting a thirteen-year-old boy in the Porters' home just a few months after you lived there. According to the police, he admitted to doing it for over a year to multiple boys. Most boys never come forward with that so it's very possible that what you're dreaming about actually happened but you boys have pushed it down so far in your brains in order to erase it. I thought we dodged that bullet when neither of you mentioned it after coming home. I had read that so much sexual abuse occurs in foster homes and was relieved at the time that nothing like that happened to you boys. Now it seems like maybe it did."

"Woah, hold on," I say, kinda flustered. "You really think that Al got bad touched?" Dada sighs and shakes his head.

"I don't know what to think, honey," Dad admits. "Obviously, I don't want it to be a memory that you've repressed. I would much rather this be a disturbing dream that you've been having. My gut, though, tells me it's not that simple. My gut's telling me that it's true."

"Mine, too," I whisper. My throat tightens and I sniffle, a tear or two rolling down my face. I quickly wipe the tears away and ask, "What would we do, Dada, if it's true?"

"I don't know, Brother," Dad says. "I think you need to talk to Dr. Hughes tomorrow about this dream and maybe he can help you and Al figure out if it's just a dream, or a real memory."

"Okay, but we need to talk to Alphie first," I tell him. "I don't want to spring this on him tomorrow afternoon and have him freak out in Dr. Hughes office."

"There won't be a good time to bring this up with him," Dada reminds me. "You know that, right?" I nod.

"I know," I say. "But I feel like it's better to tell him and get him ready for what we're gonna talk about at therapy rather than just spring it on him during or right before therapy. That would make it really hard for him to even talk about it or work through things if he was upset and scared." Dada nods somberly.

"Ed, nobody did something like that to you, right?" Dada asks, his voice shaking. "Please tell me the threat of rape was the only thing those boys did to you." I nod.

"Nobody's done that to me," I reply. My brow furrows and I say, "Can I tell you a secret?" Dada nods.

"Of course," he answers.

"If I hadn't have been standing in the corner 'cause Mrs. Porter was punishing me for having an accident, I think David might have touched me, too," I tell him.

"He probably would have, you're right," Dada agrees sadly. He kisses my hair and sighs softly. "I've failed you boys so much. I am so, so sorry." I look over at him, Dada's bearded chin quivering.

"Dada," I say softly, "Dada, I know you feel bad, but it's not all your fault. Especially that foster home stuff."

"Yes, but you never would have had to live in two foster homes if it weren't for my bad judgement, Edward," Dad points out. "I should have listened to Pinako or believed Al when he told his teacher what was going on or been more available to you boys when I was at home. But I wasn't."

"Dad, you've made mistakes, I know you have," I tell him. "But, it's not like you were ever intentionally negligent. You were so angry and upset when you learned what was going on and…. I do blame you for a lot of stuff, I know you did the best you could given the circumstances. So, please don't cry or say you failed us. It's okay. I love you, Dada." Dad sniffles loudly and hugs me tight. I sigh contently, resting my head on his chest.

"I love you, too, sweetie," Dada says softly. I snuggle up close, rubbing my eyes as I get sleepy. "Do you want to stay here or do you want me to carry you back to bed?"

"I don't wanna leave Al all alone," I reply sleepily. "You don't hafta carry me." Dada smiles – that warm dad smile – and stands up.

"I know," he replies, picking me up, "But I want to." I rest my head on Dad's chest and sigh happily. I can feel Dada start to walk and he kisses my forehead. "Whatever happens with this dream or memory, whatever it is, I promise that everything is gonna be okay. Al's gonna be okay, sweetie, and so are you. I promise." I nod, my eyes real heavy.

"Mmm, yeah," I sigh happily.

"Sleepy boy," Dada muses. He carries me to bed and places me next to Al. Al automatically rolls over to me and hugs me, cuddling up to me. I hug him back and feel Dada tuck us in. He kisses my hair and I'm assuming his kisses Al's, too, as he says, "Sweet dreams, boys. I love you both very much."

"Love you, too," I mumble, finally drifting off to sleep.

It's morning and we're getting ready to go to IHOP. It's Monday, so it's pancake day. I'm sitting on the couch with Al, scrolling mindlessly through Facebook on my iPad. There's some pictures of cats, outdated memes, and statuses I really don't give a shit about. Let's see…. Ling changed his profile picture. Great. Paninya posted another freaking picture for her dog. Boomer? I think that's his name. I've only met him once. Rose posted a picture of her and her church group. They helped at a crisis pregnancy center. That's kinda cool. I like that picture and keep scrolling. I really don't like Facebook, honestly. I think it's stupid to broadcast your life on the Internet like that. I mean, I guess it's fine for, like, pet pictures and keeping in touch with people but lots of kids my age use it as a diary. Like, they'll talk about everything and it's super annoying. It's like they post that kind of personal shit on Facebook or Twitter or something thinking that everyone cares, but the truth is no one does. I don't care about your dumb boyfriend or your stupid car or what you ate for dinner. I don't post a lot on Facebook. I use Twitter more, but I don't post personal stuff on there either. I mostly retweet memes and share memes on Facebook. Al always shares sappy adoption videos of kittens on Facebook, but he also shares memes. He's been posting a lot of pictures of Picard since we got him. I think it makes him happy, I don't know.

I glance over at Al who's on his iPad and sigh. We hafta tell Al about this whole potential molestation thing before school. I know how anxious and upset it's gonna make him but we can't spring it on him right before therapy. He won't be able to actually talk about anything if we bring it up right before therapy. But…. Fuck, I don't know. I don't know what's the best way to bring this up. I guess there's no good way to do it. I mean, we're basically saying, "Hey, Al, so we think that one of the foster boys at the Porters' house molested you when you were eleven 'cause Ed's having dreams about it. Any chance you remember that happening?" Oh, God, that's terrible. But we gotta ask him about it, even though it's gonna suck. I groan softly and put my iPad down. I can smell coffee in the kitchen so I walk in, Dada reading skimming the paper and drinking his first of many cups of coffee. I walk over to him and Dad lowers the paper, grinning weakly at me.

"Ready?" Dad asks, finishing his coffee.

"Almost," I reply, twisting my shirt in my hands. "Dad, how are we gonna ask Al about this molestation-thing?" Dad puts the mug in the sink and sighs.

"I think we just need to be direct, but calm," Dada tells me. "We need to ask him honestly and directly but do our best not to scare him. If this is just some scary, disturbing dreams you're having, we don't want to convince him that this episode is real when it may not be. We have to voice our concern without freaking him out."

"Yeah and I read that shame and guilt and stuff are signs that someone's been sexually abused," I say. "If he starts apologizing or something or even gets defensive, I think there's a good chance it happened." Dada nods.

"I agree," Dad says. "Ed, honey, I need you to stay calm. I know you're worried and scared, but the last thing we want to do is get Al all worked up." I nod.

"I know," I reply. "I'll do my best to not freak out and scare him." Dad puts his hand on my shoulder and we walk out of the kitchen. Picard is sitting next to Al now, Al still scrolling on his iPad. He looks up and smiles at us.

"Hey," he says excitedly. "Guess what! I just watched a new trailer for Civil War! I know we need to get going so we can get pancakes, but if we have time at breakfast I'll show it to you." He puts the iPad in his backpack nearby and stands up. "Let's go."

"Hold on a second, Al," Dada says gently. Al's brow furrows and Dada goes on, "We need to talk really quick, honey. It's important." Al quickly glances over at me, anxiety in his eyes and I nod at him. Al sits down, his backpack at his feet and looks worriedly up at both of us.

"Is everything okay?" Al asks nervously. "D-Did s-s-someone die?"

"Oh, no, baby, no," Dada assures him, sitting down next to him. "Everyone's okay, I promise, sweetheart. I need to ask you something and it's not going to be easy to hear. I need you to be brave, okay, and try your best to answer my question. Can you do that?" Al nods, his chin quivering.

"You're freaking me out," Al whimpers. "Wh-What's g-g-going on?"

"Al, Ed's been having very vivid dreams recently about the time you spent at the Porters' house," Dada explains gently. "In the dream, Ed sees one of the foster boys come in and bad touch you. Honey, I know it's scary and not something you want to remember, but Ed thinks this is a long-lost memory that he's pushed down deep inside. We're both very worried so try to remember. Did somebody touch you on your private parts?" Al blinks, staring at us both. He shakes his head, whimpering loudly.

"It's okay, Al," I say gently. "Try to remember. I'm right here and no one is going to hurt you if you tell." Al buries his face in his hands, his whole body trembling.

"Alphonse, baby," Dada encourages. "You're okay. You're okay. You can tell me. It's okay to tell me things. You can do it."

"I-I…." Al trails off, licking his lips. "I don't feel good."

"I know this is hard for you," Dad says softly. "I do. And this afternoon Dr. Hughes will help us sort all this out but we need something to go on other than Ed's dream. Please, Al. A simple yes or no will do. You don't have to talk about it right now. Just a yes or no." Al wipes his face and nods.

"I-I…. It…." Al struggles. I lean in closer, taking his hand in mine. "I think it happened." Al stares off, me and Dad exchanging worried looks. Al looks over at Dad and asks, "Can we go to school now?"

"Al, honey, you think it happened?" Dada questions. Al scowls at him.

"That's what I said, isn't it?!" Al snaps loudly, standing up. "God, you never listen! I was molested, you happy?! Is that what you wanted to hear?!"

"Of course not," Dada replies, taken aback by Al's tone. "Why in the world would you think that would make me happy?" Al crosses his arms and glares at me and Dada.

"Al, have you been hiding this for two years?" I ask gently. Al's face softens and he nods. I can see his lip tremble and he starts breathing heavily.

"I c-c-couldn't say an-anything," Al wheezes. "I'm al-already so b-b-bad and d-d-dirty and I th-thought if I n-never s-s-said anything, it w-would go away. Th-That m-maybe I could f-f-force myself to f-f-forget. B-B-But I c-c-can't!" He starts crying, Dada and me standing instantly.

"Oh, God," I breath, the realization dawning on me. Somebody molested my little brother in a foster home. I shake my head and hurry over to Al. I wrap my arms around him, Al struggling to stay on his feet.

"Shh, it's okay," I whisper, petting his hair. "It's okay. Alphie, it's okay. You can tell us stuff like that. We don't think you're bad or dirty. You didn't have to hide this for two years."

"Brother's right, sweetheart," Dada agrees, his voice strained. He reaches out for Al and pulls us both into a hug. "Oh, honey. Oh, Al. I am so, so, sorry. I am so sorry. I'm so sorry." Al's wailing loudly, slowly sinking to his knees. He drags me and Dada down with him and I pull him up into my lap. I rock him back and forth, Al sobbing hard enough that I'm scared he'll throw up.

"It's okay," I coo. "It's okay. He shouldn't have touched you like that. It was wrong and it's not your fault. It's not your fault."

"So much makes sense now," Dada says, I think to himself. He hugs us tighter and says, "Daddy's right here, sweetie. I'm here. You're safe, it's okay." Al sobs into me and I hold him close. I pet his hair and whisper softly to him so he'll calm down. But he doesn't calm down. His breathing gets anxious and he tries to pull away.

"What's the matter?" I ask as Al fights me. He shakes his head and starts heaving.

"I-I w-w-wasn't s-s-supposed t-t-to tell," Al stutters, trying to get away.

"No, sweetie, it's a good thing," Dada assures him gently.

"No! I wasn't s-s-supposed t-to t-t-t-tell!" Al cries, choking. "I-I'm n-n-n-not s-s-supposed to tell!"

"Al, sweetheart, you did a good thing," Dada comforts, Al shaking violently. He hugs him tighter and says, "It's okay to tell me things. That boy was wrong to bully you into staying silent. I am so, so proud of you for telling me what happened."

"I'm proud, too, Al," I add, holding his shaking body closer to me. He's still panicking, though, so I'm scared he's gonna pee or puke all over me and Dada. It's okay, though. He's done both to both of us lots of times. I'm still rocking him back and forth, back and forth, Al's breathing slowly calming down. I sigh in relief, looking down at Al. He's got his eyes closed, tears trapped in his kinda long eye lashes, and a thumb in his mouth.

"Is he sleeping?" Dad asks in a whisper. I shrug.

"Maybe," I answer. I can feel Al shaking his head.

"I don't feel good," he says, that thumb still in his mouth.

"Is your tummy upset?" Dada asks him. Al nods. "Okay, honey. I'll carry you back to bed." Al nods and Dada takes Al away from me. I stand up and follow behind them, watching as Dad delicately tucks Al into bed.

"Dada, who's gonna stay with him?" I ask nervously. "I've got school and you've got to work."

"I'll see if Izumi can come and watch him," Dada tells me, pulling his phone out. "If he's in shock or something, he's not safe to stay home alone." I nod and Dad calls Teacher.

"Izumi?" Dad says. "I know this is short notice but can you come keep Al company? He's not feeling well. Um…. Well, you see, he just confided some sexual abuse to me. No, it wasn't her. It was a foster child at the Porters' house. Yes, I know. I know. I don't want to leave him alone but I can't cancel class again and Ed really shouldn't miss school. I doubt Pinako can watch him. Oh, yes, I'd be prepared for anything. Yes, he might talk a little bit about it. Oh, I don't know. I'll ask." Dad lowers the phone and looks at me. "Izumi would like to know if you think it would be better if you stayed home with Al. I know you really shouldn't miss school, but I can give Ms. Hawkeye a general idea about what's going on and she'll more than likely be fine with it. What do you think?"

"Um, I can stay but I want Teacher here, too," I tell him. "I probably won't handle it well if Al starts talking about what happened or if he doesn't get out of bed like when he came home from Annie's house. I need back up." Dada smiles at me and nods.

"Ed says he'll stay with you two," Dad says to Teacher. "Okay. Okay." Dada nods, obviously listening to what Teacher is saying. "Yes, of course. Want me to leave some money? Are you sure? Okay. Yes, I'm going to call Mrs. Davis. I'd say Al revealing past sexual abuse counts as a family crisis. Charges? No, I don't believe I will because the boy who molested Al is already in juvenile detention for admitting to molesting several boys over the course of a year. Hmm…. Yes. Okay. See you soon." Dad puts his phone in his pocket and walks over to me. I look up at him.

"You're gonna tell Mrs. Davis?" I ask nervously.

"Yes, honey, I am," he tells me, delicately petting my hair. "Ed, baby, everything's going to be okay. Al's a strong kid. You know that. He's been living with this dark secret alone for a long time and now that he's told us, hopefully he'll start to feel better. I'm also going to call Dr. Hughes and let him know what's going on. I'm hoping that staying home from school with you and Izumi will be what Al needs and he'll feel better this afternoon so he can go to therapy."

"Dad, what if telling us only makes everything worse?" I ask miserably.

"It won't," Dada assures me. "Talking about our feelings and experiences with our loved ones more often than not helps us to work through how we feel and move passed what happened. It might take a little while, most things this terrible do, but I promise that this will make Al feel better in the long run. Right now, he just needs to process the terrible memory he's worked so hard to forget. You do, too, Ed." I nod.

"Yeah, okay," I say.

"I'm going to call your school," Dad tells me. "Stay here with Al. See if he wants anything to eat."

"Should I take his thumb out of his mouth?" I ask.

"If you feel like it won't freak him out or make him cry, go ahead," Dada replies. "I'll be right back." I nod and walk over to the bed. I sit down, Al looking up at me.

"Hey," I say gently. "Are you hungry?" Al shakes his head.

"No," he says quietly. He rolls over, his back facing me.

"Al," I say softly. "Al, I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry." Al doesn't say anything so I stand up.

"Buddy, I'm starving," I tell him. "I'm gonna go make some cereal. Want me to bring you something? Like Sprite or something for you to puke in?" Al rolls back over.

"Um, will you bring me some Sprite?" Al squeaks. "Please? My tummy's upset." I nod.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," I reply. "And whenever you're hungry, just tell me." I turn to leave, but Al grabs my hand. I glance back at him and ask, "What?"

"D'you…. I mean…. You don't see me differently, right?" Al asks quietly.

"Differently?" I question. Al's face saddens.

"You know," he says, "Like I'm broken or damaged, right? I'm still Al?" Al's lip trembles and he starts crying again.

"Dude," I sigh, sitting next to him. "You'll always be Al. Nothing's ever gonna change that. Nothing's different. We're still on the same team." Al nods, sniffling pathetically, and looks at me.

"Do you remember?" Al whimpers and my face darkens.

"Yeah," I reply. "Sorta, anyways. All I keep thinking about is how I didn't say a damn thing. I just sat in the corner and let it all happen. Then I rocked you to sleep like nothing ever happened. God – I'm sorry. I should have done more."  
"Like what?" Al questions miserably.

"Like pulled him off of you or gone to get Mrs. Porter," I answer. "I don't know. Anything would have been better than just sitting there."

"David said to you that if you did or said anything, he'd do it to you to, maybe even kill you," Al tells me and my brow furrows.

"He did?" I ask.

"You don't remember?" I shake my head.

"No," I say. "This memory is coming back from being pushed down deep inside. I guess I don't remember it as clearly as I thought."

"Brother, I know what happened is awful, but it's not your fault," Al tells me. "You were scared, just like I was. I know if you could have helped, you would have." I nod.

"God, I wish I could have beat that guy up for doing that," I comment sadly. "I mean, he probably would have overpowered me since I was tiny, but maybe I could have done something. Wish I could change it." Al's eyes flicker downward.

"Me, too," he says.

"Okay, I'm going down to the kitchen," I tell him. I start to leave and pause. "Oh, and Al?"

"What?"

"Try not to suck your thumb, okay?" I remind him gently. "I know you're scared, but it's okay. You're safe. You don't have to do that to be safe. Just hug Chico until I come back, okay?"

"Okay," Al replies and I finally leave. I hurry down the stairs, Dad on the phone with someone in the dining room.

"Yes, I know," Dad says and I think he's crying. "Oh, God. My little boy…. We just can't catch a break, Candice. What am I supposed to do?" I peek in, Dad sitting at the table. He's staring at the wood, tears running down his face. I gasp softly, Dada slowly looking over. I hide, hoping Dad didn't see me. I sneak into the kitchen and try to make a bowl of cereal as quietly as I can. Once I'm done, I grab a can of Sprite with a straw for Al and creep out of the kitchen. I pause at the dining room, Dada sobbing now with the phone up against his ear. My chin quivers and I look away, deciding to focus on Al. Al needs me to take care of him. I go up the stairs and walk back into my room, Al sitting up in bed. Picard is on his lap, a faint smile on Al's lap.

"Hey," I greet. Al looks up at me.

"It's weird," Al tells me as I walk over. I sit down, hand him the soda, and ask,

"What is?" I take a bite of my cereal and Al stares at Picard.

"He always seems to know when I need him," Al explains. "Crazy, right?" I shrug.

"I guess," I reply. "I actually think that maybe Picard was a therapy pet before he met you." Al frowns in thought, playing with the straw sticking out of the can of soda.

"That'd explain a lot," Al agrees.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask.

"What?" Al replies.

"All those nights you didn't tell me what you were dreaming about or what was keeping you up…. Was it the…. I mean, was it the bad touch?" I ask. Al's eyes flicker downward.

"Yeah," he answers. "I don't always think I knew, though. You tried to forget and so did I. Guess I figured you and I could only handle so much shit."

"Swear," I tease lightly. Al chuckles weakly.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I don't like that word."

"Yeah," I say, ruffling his hair. "I know you don't."

"I'm sorry," he says again. I take another bite and look at him.

"For what?" I say with my mouth full.

"For keeping this from you and Dada for so long," he tells me, his voice shaking. "I never…. What I mean is…. I was scared, Brother. I still am. I'm scared that now that I'm thinking about it and told people, I'll go right back to where I was when I was twelve and that was a bad place. I couldn't even get out of bed, Ed. Not for anything. Nothing you or Dada or anybody said got me up. What if…. What if that happens to me again?"

"We'll figure it out," I assure him. "You know, it's okay to relapse. If you feel like you can't get out of bed today, that's okay. What you're remembering…. God, it's so shitty. It's shitty enough from my end. I can't even imagine what it feels like to be the one someone bad touched. It's too horrible. I don't think I'd get out of bed, either."

"'Course you would," Al scoffs. "You're so much braver and stronger than I am. You never laid in bed for days on end, peeing all over yourself and not caring because of what happened to you."

"No," I say softly. "But I set fires." Al looks down guilty. "No, it's okay. It's okay. Neither of us handled what happened well. You dealt with it by refusing to get up and I dealt with it by… committing arson in the Dollar General parking lot."

"Brother," Al says. "I don't feel good." He lays his head down on my shoulder and I rest the bowl of cereal on my lap.

"Yeah, I know," I reply. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay." Somebody knocks on our door so I say, "Yeah?"

"Ed, it's me," Teacher says from the other side of the door.

"Come in," I instruct. The door opens and a very tired looking Teacher walks inside our room. She shuts the door and walks over, kneeling down in front of us.

"Hey, you two," she greets with a smile.

"Hi, Teacher," I chirp, Al sniffling loudly. "We haven't seen you for a while. You okay?"

"As good as I can be with cancer and a difficult foster child," Teacher answers.

"How is Wyatt?" I ask. "Is Nugget doing okay?"

"As good as he can, all things considered," she tells me. "How are you two doing? I'm sure this revelation has been incredibly difficult on you both." I nod, my throat tightening up.

"Yeah," I reply. I look down at my half-full bowl of cereal and sigh.

"Al, it's alright," Teacher comforts gently. I look up at him, silent tears running down his face. "It's okay." Al wipes his face, smearing tears all over it.

"Thanks for coming over," I tell her. "You didn't have to."

"Your poor father sounded pretty desperate on the phone," Teacher points out. I nod.

"He was crying when I went down stairs," I say. "He was on the phone with Mrs. Davis."

"Edward, your father is just as overwhelmed and upset about this as you and Al are," Teacher says.

"I know," I reply. "It's just…. I haven't seen Dad cry a lot."

"Dada cries at night," Al says quietly. "I hear him sometimes. That's why I think family therapy is a good idea." Teacher nods.

"I think it's a good idea, too, Al," Teacher tells him.

"Is Dad gone?" I ask.

"No," Teacher answers. "He's going to come up and see you two before he leaves. He might be canceling his afternoon classes, but he isn't sure yet."

"With you here, we'll be okay," I say. Teacher smiles.

"Thank you, Ed," Teacher says. "Now, I want to talk to Al." Al looks over at her and Teacher smiles at him. "Alphonse, I can't imagine what you're going through, but I will not allow you to go to the dark place you were in a couple years ago. I know it'll be hard, but you are not going to lay in bed all day unless you start throwing up." Al nods.

"Okay," he whimpers. "I…. I was scared of that happening."

"I figured," Teacher says. "I like to think I know you pretty well, kiddo. I know you'll need help sometimes and that's okay. I'm going to help you work through this as much as I can."

"Maybe there's something fun we can do?" I suggest. "Like, I don't know. It's a Monday so maybe the movie theater is dead enough that Al can handle it? Or maybe we could go for a walk. I don't know."

"What do you think, Al?" Teacher asks. "D'you think you'll be up for leaving the house?" Al shrugs, the door opening. Dada walks in and Al wiggles out of bed. He hurries over to Dada and Dad picks him up.

"Hey, sweetie," Dada says softly. Dad walks over and sits down next to me on Al's bed, Al sitting on his lap. "I have to go to work, okay? Winry's going to collect your homework for you and we'll go to therapy this afternoon. Take it easy today, okay, Alphie? You need to recover. There's no rush, sweetheart."

"There's no reason to worry, Vic," Teacher tells Dada. "I'll look after them. They'll both be okay." Dad nods.

"I know, I know," Dad replies. "I still worry, though. I worry now more than ever. It feels like the whole word is capable of hurting my boys and will. The worst part about it all is that there's nothing I can do about it. God – I've failed them so much, Izumi. I promised Trish that I'd keep them safe; that her death would be the worst thing they'd experience in childhood and I broke that promise. Poor Trisha is probably so ashamed of me. She's gonna give me a good slap when I get up there."

"Get up where?" Al asks softly.

"Heaven, honey," Dad clarifies. "That's where Mom is."

"You think she's disappointed in you?" I ask. Dad nods, his chin quivering. I cross my arms and scowl at him. "Well, I don't think she is. That's not the kind of person Mom was. I think…. I think if Heaven's real, Mom just up there feeling really sad. I think she understands that she was a terrible person and that you were just trying to help me and Al by getting married and that was a way to help you heal. I think she knows that this whole bad touch-thing isn't anyone's fault except the freaking nasty guy who did it. When you die, Dad, Mom's gonna give you a hug, not hit you."

"I think so, too, Dada," Al agrees. "Mom knows it's been hard for all of us. She's not mad at you. I think she's just sad." Dada smiles sadly.

"I hope you boys are right," Dad says. He kisses Al's hair and gently moves him so he's sitting on the bed. Dad stands up and pulls me into a hug, whispering, "Take care of Al, okay? And take care of yourself. Izumi will take good care of you both." I hug him back and nod.

"Don't worry, we'll be okay," I tell him. "See you later, okay?" Dada kisses my forehead.

"You're such a good boy," he praises, my blood feeling all sticky and sweet. I smile up at him and Dada turns to Teacher.

"Call me if you need me," he says. Teacher nods.

"Will do," she replies. "See you this afternoon." Dada gives me and Al one last hug before leaving. I sit cross-legged on Al's bed, Al just staring at the wall. I look down at my lap, grimacing when I see my cereal's all soggy.

"Shit," I mumble. I can feel Teacher's eyes on me and I swallow nervously. "Uh, I mean crap. Sorry."

"What's the matter, Ed?" Teacher asks.

"Oh, my cereal got soggy and gross," I answer. "No big deal. I wasn't very hungry, anyways."

"Has Al had anything to eat?" Teacher asks. I shake my head.

"He says he's not hungry," I explain. "He's just been really quiet. I brought him some Sprite but I don't think he's had any."

"Al," Teacher addresses. Al doesn't respond. He just keeps looking at the wall, his chin quivering as his whole body shakes. Teacher stands up and walks over to him. She kneels down in front of him and gently puts a hand on his shoulder. I automatically know that was a bad idea. I can see Al tense up underneath her hand, his eyes growing really wide. His breathing gets frantic, Teacher removing her hand.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, Al scooting away from her. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking that you needed to eat." Al starts wheezing.

"I-I'm not h-hungry," Al pants.

"Okay, that's fine," Teacher tells him. "Al, you need to breathe. In with your nose, out with your mouth." Al shakes his head, squirming a little.

"I-I have to pee," he announces nervously.

"You need to calm down a little first," Teacher instructs. "You'll go in a minute. Show me how you can breathe, okay? Can you do that?" Al nods, his lip trembling. He rubs his eyes and I can hear him doing his best to breathe.

"Good job," I encourage. "Teacher didn't mean to scare you." Al nods.

"I know, B-Brother," Al says. "I-In w-w-with my n-nose, out with m-my m-m-mouth."

"That's it," Teacher says gently. "That's it. Good job, Al. You've got it."

"Teacher, I gotta go," he says, standing.

"Will you be okay?" I ask. Al nods and starts to walk away.

"Yeah," he answers.

"Al," Teacher addresses. Al looks over at her and she smiles at him. "See? You're going to be okay. I promised I wasn't going to let you just lay in bed all day and I meant it." Al grins weakly. His hands twitch at his sides and he hurries back over to Teacher. He gives her a hug, Teacher slowly returning the hug.

"Good boy," she says gently. "You're a good boy. I love you, Alphonse."

"I love you, too," Al whispers, burying his face into her shoulder. Teacher rubs his back for a minute before pulling away.

"Go potty, okay?" Teacher instructs gently. "I'll be right here when you're all done." Al nods and finally leaves.

"Al really has gotten better," I comment. Teacher looks at me and I go on, "I just… I guess I figured he'd lay here all day and never talk to us. But he's talking and…. I don't know. Al's changed, but it's in a good way." Teacher nodded.

"He's healed, Ed," Teacher tells me. "You both have. You may never heal all the way, but you have healed. You will always experience healing, all your life." Teacher pauses, frowning at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you want to talk about what you remember, Ed?" Teacher asks. I look away.

"I…." I lick my lips, trying to figure out what I wanna say. This whole thing still feels like a dream somehow. Like, I know it's a memory but it doesn't feel like my own memory. It's hard to describe. All I know is that I feel shitty. But Teacher doesn't like it when I cuss so I can't say that.

"Edward?" Teacher prompts.

"It's still muddy," I tell her softly. "I watched the whole thing happen, though. I just… sat there and watched it. What that boy did…. I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay," Teacher says gently. "Okay. You don't have to right now." I nod, staring at my soggy cereal.

"I didn't do enough, you know," I admit quietly. "I've never been able to do enough. That first day after she locked us outside, I called Dad. I could have told him everything, Teacher, right then and there and prevented seven years of abuse and then Al would have never got bad touched. But I didn't. I hate myself, sometimes, for not protecting Al enough. All the times she smashed a bottle over his head or locked him in closets or beat him bloody with her bare hands and I didn't do anything to stand up for him. This whole bad touch-thing really reminds me how fucking – sorry! – useless I really am. I just…." Tears burn in my eyes and rub them like a stupid little kid; "I let that happen to him 'cause I didn't stop that boy. I just let it happen. I'm such a terrible brother."

"Ed," Teacher sighs. "You cannot blame yourself for the abuse. You were a scared little boy, same as Al. And, Ed, from what your father told me that boy would have molested you, too, if you had said anything."

"Better me than Al," I mutter, Teacher putting a hand on my head.

"No, don't say things like that," Teacher tells me. I sniffle pathetically and shake my head.

"There are still days that I wish I could kill myself," I confide in her. "They get lost and buried inside me, but right now I wanna just slice into my wrists and…." I stand suddenly my words quickly dying off.

"What's wrong?" Teacher asks suddenly.

"We let Al go to the bathroom by himself!" I cry, hurrying to the door. I don't bother to explain myself and I run to the bathroom. I pound on the door, yelling, "Al! Al!" No response. Damn it! He's probably in there cutting again! Shit! This is all my fault! All my fault!

"Edward, what are you doing?" Teacher asks from behind me. I glance backward at her.

"We…. Al's cutting."

"How do you know that?" Teacher questions calmly.

"He's been in the bathroom for a long time," I explain frantically. "Whenever he does that, he's cutting."

"Have you tried opening the door?" Teacher asks. I shake my head. I put my hand on the knob and turn, the door opening right away. My brow furrows and I peek inside. Al's not in here. There's no blood or blades or anything. I shake my head.

"Uh, Al's not in here," I tell her. "I don't think he cut."

"That's good," she says, looking around. "Al?"

"I'm in Dad's room!" Al calls. I sigh in relief and take Teacher there. Al's sitting on Dada's bed, a photo album on his lap. Teacher and I walk over and I sit down next to him. Teacher stands nearby, her arms crossed.

"What are you looking at?" I ask, leaning over so I can see.

"My baby book," Al says. "I'm looking for a picture of Mom."

"Like, a specific one?" I question, my brow furrowed.

"Yeah," Al answers.

"Does that picture help you to feel safe?" Teacher asks. Al nods.

"Whenever I was scared and at Annie's house, I'd think about Dada or this picture and feel better," Al explains. "It's silly, but it helps." Al flips the page and smiles. He points to a picture in the top right corner and I look. It's a picture of Mom, me, and Al. Al's pretty small – like, not even a year old – so I'm probably two or almost two. Mom's holding both of us, a big smile on all our faces.

"I like this one," I chirp. "It's a good one." Al nods.

"It makes me feel better," Al says. I smile at him.

"Me, too," I say.

"Better enough to eat?" Teacher asks. Al smiles weakly.

"I'll try," Al says. I grin ear-to-ear, Teacher reaching out to Al and ticking his sides. Al laughs, his feet lightly trying to kick her hands away. I think Al's gonna be okay. This is terrible, yeah, but it's not gonna be like when he was twelve. I can feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you guys know, chapter 51 was actually part of this chapter until I cut it. Because of that, chapter 51 will probably be up by Friday. I start nursing school on Monday, but the majority of that chapter is already written. I don't know when I'll be able to update after that, but I promise I won't abandon this story. Ed's story is coming to a close as we have entered the final chapters of the story. Ed only has a couple more group therapy sessions left before his past story closes. Thank you to everyone who is reading and I hope to see you all at the finish line!


	51. A Day with Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I broke my thumb on a tire swing once. It sucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, much like the last one, deals with child sexual abuse. This chapter deals more with it than the last chapter and can get sort of explicit. You have been warned.

Al ends up eating a little breakfast before taking a shower and getting dressed. When he's all done, Teacher asks him if there's anything he wants to do. He shrugs before asking if we can go to the park and take a walk. One of the parks by our house has this nature trail that's, like, two-ish miles long. The trail was donated and is maintained by the college Dad works at. When we were little, our family used to take walks on the trail all the time. Teacher thinks it's a little cold but Al insists, his big eyes no doubt convincing Teacher to agree. We dress super warm and go out to Teacher's car. She drives us to the park, parking nearby the entrance of the trail. I really like the trail. It's super pretty, especially in the fall when the leaves change. There's a creek and there's even a tire swing near the middle of the trail. When I was little, in preschool and Al was still pretty much a baby, and Dada had to work, Mom would take us to the trail. We'd walk for what felt like hours to me when I was three and find the tire swing. Mom would push me and Al on the swing and we'd play in the creek. I haven't walked the trail in a long time. Even though it's cold, I'm kinda glad this is what Al wanted to do. I think it'll make him feel better.

We start walking, nobody really talking. That's okay with me, though. I don't like feeling like I gotta fill in silences with words. My friends sometimes make me feel like that. I like all my friends, but they don't understand how much I really do like not talking. It's okay to just sit and listen. Nobody, not even Winry, really gets that at school, though. They always think something's wrong if I'm not talking. And while sometimes I'm not talking 'cause I'm anxious or I have bubbles in my throat, sometimes I just wanna sit and listen. I'm okay with walking the trail with Teacher and Al and hardly ever say anything. We keep going, Al looking at all the trees. There's a little ice on the branches and the ground is all frozen and crunchy as we walk. Luckily, it's not super icy. My prosthetic doesn't always handle ice well, especially if my stump is achy. My stump hurts a little, but it's not too bad. What really gets me achy is when the weather changes or it starts to pour rain. Paninya is the only friend I have that understand that. In the car accident that killed her parents, her legs got so crushed they both had to be amputated. Doesn't stop her from being a runner, though. She runs track at school and even does some Special Olympics stuff. I wish I could do that stuff, but I hate running. I like to swim, but I don't know if I'm good enough for the Special Olympics. I do know that I can't make the team at school the way she did. I was never that strong of a swimmer and never got the lessons I wanted 'cause of her. Besides, I don't wanna be on the team anyways 'cause I couldn't wear shirt and everyone would see all the scars all over my body. My back is super scarred from the chain and my arms are really scarred. I don't want anyone to see that.

We're in the middle of the trail now, the tire swing in the distance. I see Al pick up his pace and hurry over to the swing. I watch as he climbs up on it and sits there, his face resting against the thick rope that holds it onto the branch. I glance over at Teacher and we walk over together. The swing sways a little under his weight, Al looking into the trees. It sort of looks like he's looking for something, but I couldn't tell you what.

"Al?" I ask. Al doesn't say anything. He doesn't even look at me. I move to get closer but Teacher holds me back.

"Ed, maybe Al needs to be alone right now," Teacher tells me. "Why don't you show me the spot your mother used to take you for picnics? You mentioned it was near the swing." I look over at Al nervously but nod.

"Yeah, okay," I agree. Al's cheek is still up against the rope, his sensitive skin already red and blotchy.

"Al, we're going to the picnic spot," Teacher tells him. "You know where that is, right?" Al nods and we start walking, Al saying,

"Hey, wait." We pause and look back at him.

"What is it?" Teacher asks, my hands in my coat pockets.

"Can I ask you a question?" Al asks, his voice shaking. "It's kinda gross, but I'm confused about something."

"Go for it," Teacher says, my heart starting to beat a little funny.

"Is a boner when your penis gets hard?" Al asks. I blush a little and Teacher nods.

"That's not a very nice word for it, but yes," Teacher answers calmly. "It's a slang term, Alphonse. Why do you ask?" Al shrugs.

"David gave me one," Al says casually. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't even know that at eleven you could get one. Maybe it wasn't the same thing, but it was the same reaction. He touched it all over. It stood straight up. It was weird. Kinda hurt, too. I really didn't mean to, but it made him super happy."

"Gross," I whisper, shuddering. Teacher shushes me, indicating that she thinks it's best to just let Al talk.

"Some kids at school were laughing at me 'cause they said I've never had a boner before," Al goes on. "They say I'm defective 'cause I've never had a girlfriend. That or I'm gay. I don't think I'm gay, but maybe I am. I mean, I did get a boner for a boy. Does that make me gay?"

"Al," Teacher says gently. "Gay or not, what happened when you were eleven isn't what those kids were talking about. You weren't aroused, you were violated and taken advantage of by a boy much bigger and older than you. That is not your fault. I know you got no pleasure out of what happened to you. You were scared and that boy hurt you." Al doesn't do anything, his eyes glued to the ground.

"I am defective, though," Al says softly. "Maybe not 'cause I'm gay or 'cause I've never had a real boner, but 'cause…. Well, just because I'm me, I guess. Nobody's ever gonna wanna marry me. I've got too much baggage. On top of everything she did to me, I was molested. No girl's ever gonna wanna be with me when they hear a boy touched me all over. I don't blame them."

"You're not defective," I blurt. "None of that stuff is your fault. It's not like you've had a bunch of sex or done drugs or anything like that. A bad person did a really bad thing to you."

"He sucked on it," Al says, his voice all panicked. "No matter what I did, he just kept going. He kissed my lips and wanted me to touch him. I didn't want to. I didn't. But he made me. I didn't know what he even wanted me to do. He got kinda mad so he just kept touching me instead. I didn't wanna touch his privates, really. I didn't."

"Al, it's okay," Teacher assures him. "I know you didn't want to. Nobody thinks you did." Al shakes his head, rope marks on his face.

"I don't wanna talk about it anymore," Al says softly.

"Okay," Teacher replies. "Do you want to go to the picnic spot, Al?" Al doesn't say anything, his eyes glued to the tree line.

"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't wanna go," I say. "It's not like we have a picnic."

"That's not it," Al tells me, his cheek still pressed up against the rough tire swing rope. "I can't go there."

"Huh?" I question, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Mom wouldn't want me there," Al says. "She wouldn't want me the way I am now. Nobody does."

"I want you!" I cry.

"You don't," Al insists. "You've said so before."

"I didn't mean it!" I yell. "Knock it off!"

"Edward," Teacher says gently. "Don't yell at him. That's not what he needs right now." I glare at her so she glares right back. "When you panic or have intrusive thoughts that leak out into words, we don't yell at you or tell you to knock it off, do we, Ed?" I look down and Teacher goes on, "We come along side you and help you out of that place. Don't we owe Alphonse the same?"

"Yeah," I mumble. "Sorry. I don't like hearing him talk that way about himself."

"No one does," Teacher tells me. I look up at Al, sighing sadly when I see tears running down his face. His shoulders bounce with every little breath and sob that comes out of him. I shake my head and walk over. I pat his leg, Al's eyes moving so he can look at me.

"I want you," I say quietly. "I do. Dada does, too. And Mom, promise. What happened doesn't change that, 'kay?" I smile at him and Al wipes his eyes.

"Okay," Al says, sniffling.

"Good boy," I praise. "C'mon, get down. Let's go."

"I can really go?" Al asks. I grin cheekily at him.

"Of course you can," I assure him. Al climbs off the swing, a gloved hand resting on his cheek.

"Ow," he says, wincing.

"Did it burn you?" Teacher asks. Al shakes his head.

"No," he answers. "I'm okay."

"Then where to?" Teacher asks him. "Home or picnic spot?"

"I wanna go to the picnic spot," Al says. "And finish walking the trial before going home if that's okay."

"Perfectly fine, Al," Teacher replied. She starts walking and says, "Let's go, boys." I nod and take Al's hand. We walk for a minute, nobody talking for a while, until Al says,

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" I ask.

"T-Talking about it," Al answers softly.

"Hey, it's okay," I tell him. "It's okay to talk about things like that. It's the only way to make it easier to live with."

"Things like that," Al begins, shaking his head, "I don't think it ever really gets easier to live with."

"Maybe," I say. "But I think it has to. I mean, hasn't some of the abuse gotten easier to live with?"

"If being able to function in a way that sorta looks like how normal people do, then yeah," Al replies. "I guess it sorta does get easier."

"I'd like to believe it gets better than that," I say. "I mean, lots of people get abused but most of them grow up and get married and go to college and have kids. That's gotta count for something, right?"

"I'd like to have kids," Al tells me.

"Yeah?" I prompt. Al nods, looking up at the gray sky.

"Yeah," he echoes. "Like, a whole house full. They can bring their friends over to play and we'd always have lots of snacks and when it's time to go to sleep, I'll tuck them in the way Dada tucks us in. Read them a story and maybe pray with them then make sure they're warm and give lots of kisses."

"You'll be a good dad," I say with a smile. "Any girl'd be lucky to have you."

"You think so?" Al asks.

"'Course I do!" I say excitedly. "You'll make her so happy. The way Dad made Mom feel."

"You'll make Winry happy, too," Al says. My cheeks get hot and I nearly trip.

"Wh-What?" I splutter.

"Well, you and Winry are gonna get married," Al tells me simply.

"Uh, um, well," I struggle. I swallow and say, "You, know, maybe. I do, uh, like her but we're not even, like, a couple. Why are you so sure we're gonna get married?"

"She likes you," Al says like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Dada always says that liking each other is what got him and Mom married."

"Getting married isn't that simple, Al," I point out, all flustered. "There's other stuff."

"Huh?" Al asks, blinking at me. "Like what, Ed? People get married 'cause they love each other. What else is there?"

"You gotta want the same things," I explain. "You know, like kids and dogs and stuff like that. If the person you like doesn't want what you do, maybe you shouldn't get married."

"Yeah, but Dad didn't want kids when he and Mama got married but we're here," Al counters.

"Okay, but still," I argue. "It's not just about wanting kids or a dog. It's about wanting to commit the same amount or even just wanting to get married. It's also about making sure you'll still want the same things later on, too. That going to school or having kids won't change anything or even break you up." I look at him, Al's brow knitted together with worry.

"Are you saying that you and Winry don't want the same things?" Al asks.

"No," I reply. "Right now, we do. We both wanna be together right now when we both think we're ready but after we graduate or go to college, who knows? Things change, Al. People change."

"I guess that's true," Al says. "Still, you never know. There's lots of stories of high school sweethearts getting married. Maybe that'll be you and Winry." I blush harder before a sly smile inches across my face.

"What about you?" I ask slyly. "Anyone you like?" Al's cheeks turn pink but he nods.

"Um, well, lately I've…. What I mean is…. I sorta like Mei." I gasp loudly, pretending like I didn't know that months ago.

"What, really?" I tease. "No way."

"You knew?" Al asks, embarrassed.

"Yeah, I knew," I laugh. "It's okay. You knew I liked Winry so we're even." I pause, looking around.

"This is it," Al says. Teacher stops, looking around. It's a small clearing, right near the end of the trail. There are a lot of trees around the edge of the clearing, all of them covered in ice.

"It's beautiful," Teacher comments.

"We'll take you in the fall sometime," I say. "When all the trees have pretty orange and yellow leaves it's so pretty."  
"It was Mom's favorite time to go here," Al adds. "Dada's too. I always liked the spring, though. All the flowers and everything's so green."

"Good temperatures, too," I say. "Not too hot, but not too cold."

"I hope to form these sorts of traditions and memories with my own family," Teacher tells us, a smile on her face. "These happy childhood memories mean so much more that the scar abuse leaves. I want to give Wyatt those memories." I smile.

"You will," I tell her. "You're a good mom to Nugget." Al nods along eagerly, Teacher walking over to us. She pulls us into a hug, her body heat warming me up.

"Thank you," she tells us softly and I forget just how cold it is because of how warm I feel on the inside.

It was too cold to hang out at the picnic spot for long so we walked back up the trail to got into Teacher's car. Once we got in, Teacher bought us lunch and we went home to eat it. After we ate we just did stuff Al wanted to do until Dada came home. Al really just wanted to work on puzzles so that's what we did. I think Al was worried that if we watched movies or something, he'd start sucking his thumb during the movie. Al's gotten super good about not sucking his thumb during the day time. He really only does it now when he's really stressed or at night. Sucking his thumb or carrying Chico around make him feel better, kinda like how Lamby and my blankie make me feel better. I used to suck on them both so I get it. I just got over that quicker, mostly 'cause I didn't do it when I was little after I turned, like, six. That is, I didn't suck on them all the time like Al sucked on his thumb all the time. I only sucked on Lamby or blankie when I was scared or at nighttime, kinda like Al does now. I broke the habit a lot faster than he did. Dad thinks it's 'cause of how little Al was during the abuse and his own leniency with it. My teeth got all messed up 'cause of sucking on stuff but Al's never did. I got braces after I lost my leg. I was eleven when I got braces and Dada always got on to me about sucking on stuff before and after that 'cause basically it cause my overbite. But Al never got messed up teeth so Dr. Marcoh told Dad to just leave it alone when we started seeing him as our doctor again. Dada does worry, though, so recently he's been kinda strict about it but he's never mean. He just doesn't want Al to do it at school or something. Poor kid is already bullied enough. Don't need to add thumb-sucking to the list.

Like Teacher promised, she never lets Al withdraw the way he did after the abuse ended almost three years ago. She gently reminds him to go potty every two hours and was really nice when he didn't want to eat lunch. Teacher encouraged him to take baby bites, the same way she and Dad did after the abuse ended. We couldn't eat big bites or portions right after everything ended and needed a lot of help with eating. Al especially. Since he was so withdrawn and depressed, he didn't eat or drink anything. There was this time early that summer where Al hadn't peed in two days 'cause he wasn't drinking. Dada threatened to take him to the hospital and Al got all freaked out. But he was getting dehydrated and Dad was worried. Instead of taking him to the hospital, Dada just bought all of Al's favorite things to drink and encouraged him to start drinking and eating again. We basically ate whatever we felt like eating back then and it was a small, but effective way to get us back to functioning. Every once in a while, I see Al's hand raise up to his mouth, his thumb tracing his lips for a few seconds before he lowers it again. He's really trying hard not to go back to that place he was in after Annie's house and I'm super proud of him. He really has come a long way since then. I hear the garage door open and Al and me instantly look over toward the kitchen. Dada's home a little early than normal. I hear the door in the kitchen open, Dad tossing his keys on the counter he always puts them on then forgets that's where he put them. I hear him gently set his laptop bag down, Al practically jumping over the couch to meet him in the hallway. Dad walks out of the kitchen, Al hugging him before Dada can even say anything to anyone.

"Hi, Dad," I greet happily, Dada hugging Al back.

"Everything go okay, Izumi?" Dad asks. Teacher nods.

"Of course," she answers. "Al talked a little about the molestation and we took a walk. No accidents and only a couple short meltdowns. We've been working on a hard puzzle all afternoon."

"Yeah, we're really sucking at it, Dad," I add. "Oh! And you'll be super proud, 'cause Al was pretty talkative and didn't suck his thumb, like, at all."

"That's good," Dada comments warmly, kissing the top of Al's head. "I am very proud. Where did you boys take a walk?"

"That trail we always used to go to," Al says, looking up at Dada. "You know, the one with the tire swing and picnic spot."

"Oh, we haven't taken a walk there in a while, have we?" Dad says. "Mom always really liked that trail."

"It was very nice," Teacher says. "Pretty cold, though." Dada smiles.

"I'm sure," he replies. "Alphie, why don't you show me how far you've gotten on your puzzle? I'm sure you haven't done as poorly as Ed says." Al chuckles weakly.

"Actually, it's one of the new ones you got me for Christmas," Al tells him, walking back toward the couch. "One of the one with three-thousand pieces. It's really tricky." Dad walks over and sits down next to me on the couch, Al sitting cross-legged on the floor next to all the pieces.

"Is this the Grand Canyon one?" Dad asks.

"Yeah," Al answers. "We really aren't doing too good, Dada." Dada smiles fondly at Al and I crawl closer to Dad. I give him an awkward side hug, Dad hugging me back.

"Did you miss me, Brother?" Dada asks me softly.

"Yeah," I say softly. "It's been a weird day."

"I know," Dada sighs. "I couldn't get you boys out of my head all day."

"Victor, did you call Dr. Hughes?" Teacher asks.

"Oh, yes, I did," Dad replies. "Which reminds me. Boys, Dr. Hughes would like to talk to Al alone for fifteen minutes or so today, then talk to Ed alone for the same amount of time. Then you'll have a thirty minute session with all three of you. And we have an appointment with the family therapist tomorrow."

"Alone?" Al squeaks. "Why?"

"I think Dr. Hughes wants to make sure we aren't all just feeding our own fears and turning it into a memory," Dad explains. "It's not that he doesn't believe you, Al. It's that he wants to separate hysteria from the true memory. He also wants to touch base with you two individually and see what all you remember and allow you a safe place to talk about something you may not want to talk about with your brother. It may not take long at all and he said I can join you if you get scared."

"Okay," I say anxiously, Al's face falling.

"We have family therapy tomorrow?" Al asks.

"Yes," Dada answers.

"But tomorrow's cat shelter day with Mei," Al says.

"I know, honey, but we need to start having family therapy and after this whole ordeal this morning, I figured we needed to start sooner rather than later," Dada explains. "Don't worry. We won't have family therapy every week and we might do it on Thursdays sometimes. It's okay."

"Victor," Teacher addresses.

"Yes?" Dada replies.

"I know this morning you were unsure if all of this was real or not, but I can assure you, it is," Teacher tells him, Al squirming anxiously. "Al was very…descriptive earlier." Dada's face falls. He takes his glasses off and sighs.

"I see," he says softly, slumping over. "Well, I'm glad we know it's a real memory without a doubt, but I really wish it wasn't."

"I know," Teacher says. I sigh, looking over at Al. I shake my head, a thumb finally resting in his mouth. I elbow Dad and he looks over at me.

"Edward," Dad groans. "Don't do that." I scowl at him.

"Look," I say, gesturing to Al with my head. Dada looks and sighs again.

"Honey, just let him," Dad says, his voice shaking. "He's not hurting anything. He's just scared." I nod.

"Okay," I reply.

"Oh, Alphonse," Teacher says. Al looks over at her, his chin quivering. "It's time to go potty, okay? Are you okay to go by yourself?" Al shrugs.

"I'm just anxious," Al answers, standing. He picks Chico up off the ground. "I don't think I have to do anything."

"That's fine," Teacher tells him. "Just try, okay?" Al nods, still sucking his thumb.

"Okay," he replies, walking to the bathroom. Dada shakes his head.

"Goodness, Izumi," Dad says. "You really did wonderful today. I was not expecting Al to be in such a good mood or to hear he's been relatively calm and normal today. I am so relieved. Thank you for looking after them both."

"I love your boys," Teacher tells him. "I love them like family. I wasn't going to allow Al to slip back into the massive depression he was in after the abuse ended if I could help it."

"Thank you," Dada says softly. "Thank you. It means so much to me. Thank you." Al walks back over, still sucking his thumb, and sits on the other side of Dada. He rests his head on Dad's arm and Dad kisses his hair.

"I should go," Teacher announces, standing. "It's nearly 2:30 and Wyatt will be out of school soon." Dad nods.

"Okay," Dada replies. "Give Sig and Wyatt my best."

"Yeah, tell the nugget I said hi," I add. Teacher smiles at me and ruffles my hair.

"Your hair's long," Teacher comments and I chuckle softly.

"Yeah, that was kinda my whole plan," I tease. Teacher shakes her head and walks over to Al. She pats his head and says,

"You're going to be okay. We all love you so much. This bad thing doesn't define you." Al nods.

"It's how we respond, right, Teacher?" Al asks around his thumb.

"That's right," Teacher praises. "It's not the falling down, but the staying down that really shows who we really are. You're not one to stay down. Never have been."

"Thank you for being so patient with me," Al says. "I tried to be good."

"Al, you are always good," Teacher tells him. "I have to go, okay?" Al nods.

"Okay," Al replies. "Bye, Teacher."

"Bye boys," she says. "Victor, call me if you need anything, okay?" Dada nods.

"I will," Dad says. "Same goes for you. If you need anything, call me." Teacher nods and leaves, Dada pulling Al closer. I look away, my eyes drawn to the mess of pieces on the floor.

"Why'd you hafta buy such hard puzzles for Al?" I complain loudly. Dad laughs and shakes his head.

"He needed a challenge," Dad tells me lightly. "He told me himself. I believe his exact words were, 'Dad, if you get me a puzzle make sure it's a hard one'." Dada looks over at Al and asks, "Am I close?" Al nods.

"Yeah," he says softly. I frown and slide off the couch.

"C'mon," I say. "We have, like, an hour before we gotta go see Dr. Hughes. Let's work on this some more."

"I don't wanna," Al says stubbornly.

"Al, it's okay," Dada tells him softly. "Play with your brother. I'll make some hot chocolate or tea if you want."

"The kettle's broken," Al mumbles.

"Oh, right," Dad sighs. "Well, hot chocolate it is." Al nods and sits up, Dad walking into the kitchen. Al gets off the couch and sits across from me, staring blankly at the puzzle with his thumb still in his mouth. I pick up a little piece and stare at it.

"Um," I vocalize. "Well, this is a sky piece. It's blue." I hold it out to Al, Al glancing over. "You wanna find where this goes?" Al stares before taking it in his free hand. He looks back at the messy puzzle, trying to see if the piece goes anywhere. He places it down, snapping it into place near the corner.

"There," Al says, taking his thumb out of his mouth. He dries his thumb off on his shirt and picks up a new piece. I smile as he examines it and finds a place to put it.

"Geeze, Dad really over did it," I say. "Three-thousand pieces is a bit much."

"Please," Al chuckles. "Five-thousand is really ridiculous."

"There's ten-thousand piece ones, too," I tell him. Al nods.

"Our house isn't big enough for one of those," Al comments.

"Big enough for what?" Dada asks, coming back in with three mugs. He hands a mug to Al and hands me my swag mug Al made for me.

"A ten-thousand-piece puzzle," Al answers. Dad sits down and nods.

"Maybe if we cleared out the spare room," Dad ponders, "But yeah, those do get pretty big. And I'm sure the pieces are even smaller than a five or three-thousand-piece puzzle."

"I wanna build one someday," Al says.

"Al has an old soul, Dada," I laugh.

"Old soul?" Al asks, his brow furrowed.  
"You like to watch birds and drink tea and go to bed early," I explain. "It's just funny since you're still a little kid but sometimes you act like you've been around for a long time."

"Oh," Al says with a smile. "I do feel eighty sometimes. I have lots of achy joints."

"You are so silly," Dad laughs, sipping his coffee. "You're not even fifteen yet."

"Eww, don't say that," I complain. "Al's gonna be little forever." Dada laughs again and shakes his head.

"I wish," he sighs, looking at his mug. "Sometimes I wish you both could have stayed little. I mean, I love our family the way it is and it's been a genuine pleasure and such a joy to watch you boys grow up but I miss having little ones sometimes. Gosh, I remember when you boys were babies. Ed used to lay right here," Dada pats the center of his chest, "All curled up like a little bug. Sucking on a binkie and cooing and…." Dad tails off, smiling fondly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

"What about Al?" I ask.

"He was in the NICU for a while, but when he got out he was still pretty small," Dada tells us. "He fit perfectly in my arm. I'd hold him for hours while Ed slept on my chest, especially when Mom was in the hospital. It was just the three of us a lot when Al was just a few months old. I'd have to deal with two fussy babies and feeding Al while Ed threw Cheerios everywhere. I'd bathe you boys at the same time so I didn't lose track of either of you, Al in the sink and Ed in the tub. I used to try to change your diapers at the same time to save some time for myself, but you boys had totally different schedules. My favorite part, though, was when I'd be grading late at night, Ed on my chest and Al in my left arm. We'd be in my bed together, Ed getting fussy because he wanted to sleep in his crib but I had to get my grading done. We'd all end up asleep, though. I'd wake up a couple hours later and put you both in your cribs then Ed'd be fussy because he wanted to stay with me." Dada looks over at us and grins weakly. "Sorry. I really started rambling there."

"That's okay," I tell him. "I always forget that Mom was in the hospital longer than Al was after he was born and that you had to take care of both us of on your own, Dada."

"Was it hard?" Al asks.

"It wasn't easy," Dad replies. "You got fussy at night a lot, Al, and required a lot of middle of the night cuddling sessions. Babies don't get held as much as they should in the NICU and I needed to bond with my baby and help you build trust with me. Ed was toddling around and getting into everything so I had to handle Ed while trying to take care of Al and worrying about Mom who was in the hospital a lot during those first few months. Ed missed Mom, of course, so he'd cry a lot. Two fussy babies can be hard to deal with and I missed her, too. I didn't feel like a good dad. I was so sleep-deprived that I started putting diapers on backwards and trying to put Al's clothes on Ed all while grading biochem like it was organic and having to start all over again. We made it, though."

"I think you're a good dad," Al says. Dad smiles.

"Thank you, sweetie," Dada replies. Al grins broadly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. "Now, let's try to make some progress on this puzzle before we go to therapy, okay?"

"Yeah," Al agrees happily. I smile and watch as Dada gets down on the ground between me and Al, trying to help us work on the puzzle before we visit Dr. Hughes.

We work on the puzzle until it's time to go. I'm super anxious about having to talk to Dr. Hughes by myself. I've only done it once. After Al got really beaten up at school back in November, I had therapy by myself. I was terrified. I didn't even know what to talk about when I was alone with Dr. Hughes. It's like anxiety stopped my brain from working properly. I just sat there like an idiot while he stared at me. Dr. Hughes would try to prompt me into talking but nothing worked. I'm scared that Dr. Hughes is gonna try and get me to talk about what I saw that night when Al was elven. I don't want to talk about it. It might be selfish, but I wish this had all stayed a secret. I wish it had stayed a forgotten memory or a bad dream. I don't want to talk about what happened, what I saw that boy do to Al. I want to push it so far down that it disappears again. Actually, there's no question about it. That is selfish. It is selfish to wish Al's terrible memory stayed secret so I wouldn't have to deal with it. It's selfish to wish this had stayed a secret so I didn't have to deal with it and force Al to live with it by himself. I'm being selfish and I know it. And the worst part is – I don't care that I'm being selfish.

We get to the office and I don't say anything to anybody. I don't want Dad or Al to know what I'm thinking. They would care about how selfish I'm acting. I should care, too. But I don't. It's too horrible. I can't stand to remember what happened. It's so much different than anything she ever did to us. I don't know how to process what happened. I hate thinking about it. It creeps up on me when I least expect it to and forces me to relive every moment of it. It makes me nauseous. I'm sure it's, like, ten times worse for Al. That's why it's so selfish. That's why I can't stand that I don't care how selfish it is. We sit in the waiting room, Al completely silent. I can tell he's anxious, too. He's never had a one-on-one session with Dr. Hughes before. I've told him how much they suck so I'm sure he's really not looking forward to having one. Dr. Hughes has been talking about us having separate sessions all year. He wants one of us to see him on Mondays and the other to see him on Fridays. He keeps saying how he hopes it'll happen by the beginning of the next school year. I can't imagine having therapy without Al. What would it be like? I guess it would be about the same, but whose hand would I hold when I got scared? Who would hold Al when he started crying? No one would. I think it's part of growing up. Not having someone to hold your hand or give you hugs all the time. If it is, I don't ever wanna grow up. As strange as it sounds, I kinda like my life the way it is right now. Aside from some of the shit I deal with, I'm happy. I live with Dada and Al, have lots of friends, Winry comes over a lot, we're seeing more of Teacher and Sig, and my grades are good. I finished the permit book so I'm gonna take the test this weekend. I don't want my life to change. I don't wanna get older. I wanna stay right where I am. After all these years of abuse and cutting and setting fires, I'm finally sort of happy. I don't want anything to change.

Dr. Hughes calls Al back to his office first. I watch as Al trails after Dr. Hughes and sigh. Dada leans over in his seat until he can't see Al anymore then falls backward in the chair. He sighs softly, his eyes shutting briefly before he opens them again. Dad looks at his phone so I decide to stare at the far wall in the waiting room. There's a picture of the ocean on the wall. It's a kiddie picture, so everything's all cute and labeled in big, bright letters. I decide to kill time by finding all the different animals in the picture. Octopus. Clown fish. Shark. Dolphin. My heart beats funny. Okay, this is making me anxious. I shake my head and say my list in my head to calm down. Victor Alphonse Ulrich von Hohenheim-Elric. Why'd I think Dada's full name? I shake my head, trying to focus. Okay. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric. Trisha von Hohenheim-Elric. Alphonse von Hohenheim-Elric. Pinako Rockbell. Winry Rockbell. 1914 Central Court. 1899 Central Drive. School. Video games. Ling. Ling? Why is Ling in my list? Never mind. Friends can be in the list. They make me happy. Uh, let's see. Okay. Chemistry. Swimming. Dada. Puzzles. Al. Picard. Fishing. Winry. Uh, dogs. Pizza.

"Damn it," I mumble, hoping no one heard me. My list isn't working. I'm just anxiously trying to fill in gaps. I try to breathe like normal but can't. Why the hell does Dr. Hughes think having separate sessions is a good idea?! I doubt he's getting Al to say anything. Al's already talked about it. He told me and Teacher way more than we really wanted to know. I mean, I know it's good for him to talk about it. But damn, it's gross. It's really, really gross. He got hard for a boy…. I gasp, ashamed of myself. I can't believe my mind just went there. That's not what happened! That's not what happened at all! He was a little kid! Little kids don't get hard. I mean, not the way older people do. God, what is wrong with me? I really am a shitty older brother. Not only did I sit back and let it happen to him, now I'm thinking about it that way? Like Al had some choice about what his body did when a boy came in and molested him? What happened isn't Al's fault. Not in any way, shape, or form. God, I hate myself for thinking that way.

I check my watch. It's been seven minutes since Dr. Hughes took Al back alone. I guess if Al had nothing to say, Dr. Hughes would have brought him back and come to get me a while ago. Maybe Al is talking. That's good. He feels awful. Talking about it with Dr. Hughes should help. I glance over at Dad, his brow furrowed as he scrolls through his phone. I frown, curiosity getting the best of me. I wanna know what he's reading. I want to know if it has something to do with Al.

"Dada? What are you reading?" I ask.

"Oh, just something on the long-term effects of child sexual abuse," Dad answers quietly. "I want to see if there's something more I can do to help you boys."

"Oh, okay," I reply. So, it does have something to do with Al. I figured.

"His bedwetting suddenly makes a whole lot more sense," Dada says suddenly. I look over at him and Dada continues, "So does Chico and the thumb sucking. Those sort of regressive symptoms point right to child sexual abuse. Since he never said anything, I just figured it was lingering PTSD and anxiety."

"Dad, it is PTSD and anxiety," I point out.

"Well, yes, that is part of it but usually bedwetting ends after the initial trauma or stressor," Dad tells me. "I mean, Al has wet the bed his whole life, but by fourteen…. I don't know. Just some of the things he does make more sense to me now." I nod, though I'm not really sure what Dada means. To me, Al's just Al. He doesn't do anything, besides be himself. I don't see symptoms or behaviors or PTSD when it comes to Al. All I see is my brother. I think it's harder for Dada 'cause we're his kids and he feels guilty so that's why he sees symptoms and stuff. I don't know.

"I don't really get it," I admit softly.

"I don't expect you to, honey," Dad assures me. My lip trembles, Dad looking worriedly at me. "Sweetie, what's the matter?" I shake my head, tears pricking in the back of my eyes as my throat tightens up.

"It's all my fault, Dada," I whimper, starting to cry.

"Edward, baby, no," Dada coos. "No. It's not. There was nothing you could have done. You were both little kids."

"Th-That's the p-problem, D-D-Daddy," I cry pathetically. "Th-There's n-n-never a-anything I c-c-can do! All I c-c-can do is w-watch!" Dada sighs and I feel him put his arms under mine. He pulls me off my seat and on to his lap. I wanna protest. I am sixteen now. I don't need to sit on Daddy's lap and cry like a baby. Except that I do.

"Shh," Dad says softly. "Shh, it's okay. That's not true, Ed. You can do so much more than just watch. You helped take care of Al while I was away. You did your best to keep him calm, clean, and fed. You give him hugs and kisses and tell him stories. You're patient and you're kind and Al knows you'll always be there for him. Doing something doesn't always mean swooping in and stopping or preventing tragedy, sweetheart. Doing something sometimes means how we act after the tragedy's struck. Believe me, Ed. You don't just watch."

"I-I'm s-so s-s-s-sorry, Daddy!" I wail, almost as if Dada never said anything. "I'm s-s-sorry! I sh-should h-have t-t-told you!" Dad sighs, pulling me closer.

"What was that song Mom always used to sing?" Dada asks. I keep crying, Dada humming in thought. "It was a Beatles song. Not Mother Nature's Son, though she did like that one. Oh, I remember." Dad clears his throat and sings, "Who knows how long I've loved you? You know I love you still. Will I wait a lonely life time? If you want me to, I will." I look up at him, Dada smiling at me. I hiccup, Dada going on,

"For if I ever saw you, I didn't catch your name. But it never really mattered, I will always feel the same. Love you forever and forever. Love you with all my heart. Love you whenever we're together. Love you when we're apart. And when at last I find you, your song will fill the air. Sing it loud so I can hear you. Make it easy to be near you. For the things you do endear you to me; you know I will. I will." Dada starts to do the humming part so I hum too, Dada tickling my sides a little. I giggle, Dada's bearded face giving me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"That's better," he hums. I rest my head on Dad's chest and sigh, sitting up when I hear Dr. Hughes call my name.

"C'mon, Ed," Dr. Hughes says. I look over at him and he tells me, "Your turn." I swallow nervously and nod, Al sitting down next to Dada.

"You okay?" I ask him. He nods mutely, his head resting on Dad's arm.

"We're both right out here if you get scared," Dad reminds me. I nod again and get off Dada's lap.

"Yeah, okay," I reply, wiping my face. I walk over to Dr. Hughes and he smiles at me. We walk to his office and he shuts the door behind us. I sit down, Dr. Hughes sitting across from me and pulling his clip board out.

"How are you, Ed?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"Pretty shitty if you want the truth," I tell him anxiously. I wish I had my blanket.

"Of course I want the truth," Dr. Hughes tells me. "I always do. Remember that there's no reason to hide from me. I'm here to help, okay?" I nod.

"So, Al," I begin, my voice shaking. "He told you?" Dr. Hughes nods.

"He did," Dr. Hughes replies. "I can't talk about it, though. HIPPA, you know."

"Right," I breathe. I guess if we talk to Dr. Hughes alone, he can't tell the other what we said. Makes sense, I guess. "We can talk about with Al, right?"

"Right," Dr. Hughes confirms. "I just can't tell you what he told me unless he's here with us to say it's okay. Now, enough about Al. Let's talk about you. How much of the event do you remember?" I shudder and lower my head.

"M-Most of it," I reply quietly.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about, just you and me?" Dr. Hughes asks. I shrug.

"I don't know," I answer. "I just had a breakdown in the waiting room." Dr. Hughes looks at me and I sigh. "I just…. I feel like this whole thing is my fault. I was just… standing there. I got in trouble. Mrs. Porter punished kids who wet the bed. I wet the bed that night and had to stand in the corner until morning. Wh-When that boy came in I just watched. I watched him pull off Al's pants and touch…." I stop talking, feeling sick to my stomach. I shake my head, trying to swallow down the puke. "I watched as he touched Al… down there. I didn't do a damn thing about it. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have done something, but I didn't. And then, out in the waiting room, I thought some terrible things about Al. About how gross it was that he got hard for a boy. I'm such a shitty brother. I'm such a shitty person."

"Edward," Dr. Hughes says gently. "There was nothing you could have done. David more than likely threatened you to stay quiet or he would hurt you. It's possible he could have molested you, too, if you had tried to do anything." I shake my head, hanging my head in shame. "Ed, sometimes we think terrible things. It happens. They're intrusive thoughts. You don't think Al's gross. You think what happened is gross because it is. What that boy did is disgusting. You know that. Our brains just jumble things up sometimes and we think things we don't actually believe. You are not a shitty person, Ed. You're a very good person. Al doesn't blame you for what happened and you shouldn't blame yourself."

"He…. He touched Al, Dr. Hughes," I say softly.

"I know," Dr. Hughes replies.

"Al was crying," I continue, starting to get frantic. "He didn't want David to touch his privates. But it didn't matter. David touched it all over. He sucked on it, rubbed it, made Al kiss him. He made Al touch his privates. Al didn't wanna. He was scared. I was scared. It was so horrible, Dr. Hughes!"

"It's okay now, buddy," Dr. Hughes tells me softly as I start to cry. "It's okay. No body's going to do that to Al ever again." I start sobbing, Dr. Hughes standing up. He walks over to me and pulls me into a hug.

"I w-w-was so s-s-scared!" I wail. "I-It w-was s-so h-h-h-horrible! Ev-Every t-t-time I c-close m-m-my eyes I s-s-see it all o-over again!"

"I know, I know," Dr. Hughes comforts. "Shh, it's alright. It's okay, Ed. Al's safe now and so are you. No one is going to bad touch him ever again."

"I-I d-d-didn't d-d-do anything t-t-to help h-him!" I sob.

"There was nothing you could do," Dr. Hughes tells me. "You weren't the one who touched him so you are not to blame." My brow furrows and I sniffle loudly, attempting to wipe my face. I'm still crying, so I make no progress on clearing my face of tears.

"D-Do brothers d-do that to each other?" I ask, confused.

"Sometimes," Dr. Hughes answers. "Why do you ask?"

"It's fucking nasty," I spit, wiping my face. "Why would brothers bad touch each other?"

"Well, sometimes if one or both of them are being sexually abused, they tend to sexually abuse their own siblings," Dr. Hughes explains. "It's a coping mechanism sometimes, particularly in young children. It can be a way to express sexual curiosity as well. Like adults, though, sometimes siblings just do it because they want to or it feels good."

"Fucking disgusting," I sniffle, crossing my arms. Dr. Hughes smiles weakly at me.

"You feel better?" Dr. Hughes asks.

"A little," I reply. "That's, uh, the first I've talked about it."

"And how's your anxiety?" Dr. Hughes questions. "I could tell you were nervous about having a one-on-one session with me." I shrug.

"I'm still anxious but I can deal with it," I tell him. "I'm not as anxious as I was. I think maybe talking about what happened helped."

"Good," Dr. Hughes says with a smile. "Are you ready to finish the session with Al?" I nod.

"Yeah," I reply. "Um, can I just color?" Dr. Hughes nods.

"Of course you can," he tells me. "I'll go get Al, okay? Will you be okay by yourself?" I nod again.

"I'll be okay," I say. Dr. Hughes nods and leaves. I sigh and rest my back on the back of the chair. God, I feel so shitty. But, I feel less shitty than I did before talking to Dr. Hughes. That's something, I guess. I sit up as the door opens, Al walking in. He has Chico in one of his hands and sits down next to me.

"Al, Ed wants to do art therapy today," Dr. Hughes says. "Is that okay with you?" Al nods.

"Uh-huh," Al replies. "I wanna color today." I smile fondly at him and Dr. Hughes goes to get what we need.

"You okay?" I ask him. Al shrugs, petting Chico's matted fabric.

"I guess," he tells me. "I mean, I will be. Today just sucks." I chuckle weakly.

"It sucks big time," I agree, Dr. Hughes coming back. He gives us what we need to color and watches us as we start coloring. I look over at Al, my brother coloring something happy. I smile – yeah, that seems about right. Even when he's miserable, Al somehow manages to positive. I don't know how he does it. I always color big ugly blobs of color or even try to draw some of the shit I went through. Al has drawn stuff that happened to him before (it helps work our feelings according to Dada and Dr. Hughes) but usually he draws nice or happy things. Al's tongue peeks out from behind his lips and I smile fondly. Al's gonna be okay, I think. We both are. It might take a while, but the road to recovery was always a long one. It's never gonna be easy. This is just another bump in the road. It's shitty, but once we're over the bump it's in the past. And me and Al are gonna get over it. We're gonna be okay. I just know it.


	52. Family Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter in the midwest really is the worst.

It's occurred to me that I have no idea what family therapy's gonna be like. I mean, I know it's gonna be different than the therapy me and Al have with Dr. Hughes and it's gonna be different than the group me and Al go to every week. I just don't know what it's gonna be like. Dada's gonna be there and that's kinda weird. It's good, I think, but it's weird. I don't really talk to Dad about shit like that. Feelings and the abuse and stuff. It always gets super awkward and I can tell it makes Dada uncomfortable and sad. Besides, I don't really like talking about that stuff anyways. I do at group obviously and I talk about it at therapy sometimes but I don't like to talk about the abuse or my feelings at home. Sometimes I'll talk about it with Al when we're lying in bed but it's not something I really talk about with Dad. But since it's family therapy we're going to today, Dad's gonna be there and I might have to. I don't know if I'll be able to talk about stuff with Dada there. Seeing him cry yesterday after the whole molestation-thing happened…. That was terrible. While I do still blame Dad for a lot of the stuff that happened to me and Al, I don't think it's all his fault or that he's a mean person. I love my dad and I know he didn't mean for the abuse to happen. He already feels so guilty about the whole thing and I hate seeing him cry so I have no idea how this whole family therapy thing is gonna work. I just hope it helps.

Al isn't at school today. He had a rough night and didn't want to get out of bed this morning. It freaked me out 'cause for a while, it seemed like he was gonna spend all day in bed like he did after the abuse ended. Dada did get him to get up, but he was really sleepy and didn't want to go to school. After the shitty day we all had yesterday, I don't blame him for not wanting to go. Winry noticed he wasn't here this morning but didn't ask me about it. I bet she'll ask me when school's out. I don't know what I should tell her if she asks. Al didn't tell me if it was okay to tell her about the molestation. I don't know if he wants people to know. I mean, I know it's Winry and she knows about the abuse but this is different. This is something Al will probably want to tell her himself. The final bell rings and I get up. I walk to my locker, Al's dumb friend Hannah loitering around it. My brow furrows and I walk over.

"Um, hey," I greet anxiously. Hannah looks over at me and smiles weakly.

"Hi," she replies. "I wanted to ask about Al. Is he sick?" I nodded.

"Yeah," I answer, getting into my locker. I put the stuff away that I don't need and go on, "He really doesn't feel good. Our dad might make him go to school tomorrow, though."

"Oh, well, I hope he feels better," Hannah says. I shut my locker and stare at her.

"See ya," I dismiss, walking away.

"Wait a second," Hannah says. I pause and Hannah hurries to stand next to me.

"About last week," Hannah begins, "That thing with Nicole – I'm sorry. I don't know why she said what she said."

"Don't worry about it," I tell her blandly. "As long as what she said isn't spread around, it's fine. It just hurt Al's feelings. Actually, so did the Star Trek bashing."

"Sorry," Hannah says softly.

"Look, I gotta go," I tell her, really trying end the conversation. "My dad'll be here to get me soon."

"Tell Al I said I hope he feels better," Hannah says.

"'Kay," I reply, hurrying off. I sigh, walking outside. It's fucking freezing, but I see Winry standing at the stairs. I walk over and poke her arm. She slides her eyes over and smiles broadly when she sees it's me.

"Hey," she greets.

"Hi," I reply. Winry looks around, her brow furrowed.

"Is Al not here today?" Winry asks. I nod and she continues, "I kinda felt like he wasn't, but I thought maybe he was coming late. Is he still sick?" I shrug.

"Sorta," I answer. "He's still on medicine for that UTI and he hasn't passed a kidney stone yet. He's just really tired." Winry frowns and crosses her arms.

"You know I can see right through you, right?" She questions, her brow raised.

"Huh?" I ask stupidly.

"I don't doubt he's still feeling lousy, but I know that's not why Al's missing school," Winry informs me. "Granny mentioned that Uncle Victor's been really mopey lately and that you guys had a home visit on Friday. Did it go poorly or something?" I swallow nervously and shake my head.

"The home visit went fine," I tell her, feeling everyone's eyes on me. There's hardly anyone around, but my anxiety makes me feel like there's a million pairs of eyes on me. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

"I'm worried, Ed," she says quietly. "Did something happen?" I glance around, Ryan Vaus standing nearby. I pull Winry aside and sigh loudly.

"Look, um, I really shouldn't tell you," I whisper so no one can hear, "But Al told us something secret that happened when we were living in one of the foster homes. Al'll probably wanna tell you himself, though, so that's all I can tell you." Winry's eyes widened.

"Something secret?" Winry questions worriedly. "I'm assuming it's a bad something."

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it," I say sadly. "But I really can't tell you, okay?" Winry nods.

"So, is Al gonna volunteer today with Mei?" Winry asks, changing the subject.

"No," I answer. "We've got family therapy today."

"Family therapy?" Winry asks, crossing her arms and shivering.

"Oh, yeah, that's something we're doing now," I say offhandedly, looking for Dada's silver hatch back.

"God, Edward, what happened?" Winry presses. "Whatever secret Al had must be terrible if you guys are doing family therapy."

"Please, drop it," I beg. "I really don't wanna talk about this. I can't tell you Al's secret." Winry gives me a sympathetic look and I glare at her.

"Sorry," she apologizes. "I'm just worried about you guys." I sigh and nod.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I groan. "I'm sorry, I just shouldn't tell you, okay? It's nothing personal, promise. It's just something Al should tell you himself."

"Okay, I get that," she says. "It's just…. Is he gonna breakdown when he does? I don't know if I could handle that."

"He might," I inform her. "It's that bad." Winry grimaces, snow starting to flurry. Little flakes land on Winry's coat and I stare at them. They don't melt right away – they just stay there.

"Ed," Winry says, "Did somebody hurt Al in the foster home?" My lip trembles and I nod.

"Uh, yeah," I answer, trying not to cry. "Someone hurt him bad, Winry. I…. I watched the whole thing happen to him." Winry's eyes widen.

"Oh, my God," Winry breathes, her breath visible for a couple seconds. I quiver, my throat tightening up. If Dada doesn't come to get me, like, now, I'm gonna accidently tell Winry what happened to Al.

"It was terrible," I whimper, starting to wheeze. "It was so horrible."

"Ed, calm down," Winry instructs, trying to remind me there's kids from school standing all around. I shake my head, trying to get a hold of myself.

"So, horrible," I repeat, Winry inching closer to me. I feel my eyes burning, tears fighting to escape.

"Um, Edward," Winry struggles. "I'm sorry I pressed you so hard. I shouldn't have. You don't have to say anything else. I'm sorry." I shake my head, my breathing getting frantic. I grab my hair, squatting down and staring at the ground.

"I c-couldn't d-d-do anything t-t-to st-stop it," I whimper, Winry squatting down next to me. She rubs my back and I just keep talking. "All I c-c-could do w-was w-w-watch. Th-That's all I c-c-can ever do. It's a-a-all I c-can e-ever d-do."

"I don't think that's true," Winry says gently, still rubbing my back. "I think you do plenty. It's not easy to look after someone but you do it each and every day for Al. You've done it since you were kids. Even before she came around, you helped your dad take care of him after Aunt Trisha died." I glance up at Winry, her lip trembling. "I remember how depressed poor Uncle Victor was. Granny says she'd never seen someone look the way he did. He barely managed to take care of himself, let alone you two. And Al was so little. He wasn't even four yet. You were so little, too. Just five and you were the one that got Al dressed in the morning and fed him breakfast. You made him peanut butter sandwiches, remember?" I nod, tears running down my face.

"W-With banana in the middle," I manage to say. "And milk to drink."

"Yeah, that's right," Winry affirms. "You were the one to help give him baths. You took him to go potty. You even tried to help your dad feel better. It was your ability to keep going that got Uncle Vic out of his depression."

"No, it wasn't," I argue. "It was her."

"No," Winry insists. "It wasn't. You don't remember it the way Granny and I do. Before Uncle Victor met her, he was starting to feel better. Granny says that he was moved by the way you continued on, even though you were devastated after Aunt Trisha died. He was so impressed with your ability to take care of Al, even though you were so upset and it gave him the courage to start living normally again. Because of you, he started to be the one to get Al dressed in the morning. He started to be the one to give the both of you a bath and tuck you both in at night. That all started long before he met her. Uncle Victor got better because of you." I stare at her, Winry's chin quivering. She sniffles loudly and I wipe my face.

"It was me?" I ask, my lip still trembling. Winry nods.

"It was you," she confirms. "It's always been you, Ed. The only reason your dad does what he does is because of you and Al. He's gone about it the wrong way a lot in his life, but it's always been you guys. That's what he cares about. That's why he keeps going, even when life is hard. That's why he got better when he was so depressed. It was you and Al. It's always been." I quiver, shaking my head. Me? No way. But…. Then again….

I did take care of Al when Dada couldn't. I remember the days Winry's talking about. Me and Al took care of each other. At first, we had to feed each other and keep each other clean. I used to make Al peanut butter sandwiches with sliced banana in the middle. Al would make me jam sandwiches. Strawberry jam, actually. My favorite. Al taught Dada what jam I liked best so when he started making my lunches for kindergarten, he'd pack the right thing. I used to pick out all of Al's clothes. I'd give him a bath and clean him up if he had an accident. I'd cuddle with him late at night, calming him down when he missed Mommy so bad he felt like his chest was going to fall in. He'd do the same for me. Then, all of a sudden, Dada started to do those things. He started to be the one to pick our clothes out in the morning and help Al get dressed. He started to be the one to feed us in the morning and tuck us in at night. He started to be the one to give baths and do the cleanup when one of us had an accident. He started to act like our daddy again. And he got better, got back to that place, all because of me and Al?

"Your dad's here," Winry informs me. I don't move, Winry getting closer to me. "You okay?"

"Elric!" I freeze, Winry standing suddenly.

"Leave us alone, Ryan," Winry warns. "I'm really not in the mood."

"What's the little cripple up to?" Ryan questions. I remain planted on my feet, squatting down and staring at the concrete.

"None of your damn business!" Winry cries angrily.

"Well, Elric, tell your pissy little brother I've missed him," Ryan calls. "I've had no one to push around lately. He's the most fun." I clench my jaw, Ryan going on, "It's the funniest thing when I lock him in supply closets and he cries for you to save him. He was the funniest, though, when he cried about not wanting me to bad touch him. What a pussy! Seriously – bad touch? I'll make him hard if I –!" My hand is in a fist and it makes contact with Ryan's face. He falls backward and I'm heaving. I don't remember even getting up. Winry's standing nearby, her gloved hands in front of her mouth. Ryan sits up and glares at me, blood running down his face from his nose.

"You little prick," Ryan grumbles loudly. I glare at him, still heaving. The courtyard is basically empty now. Almost everyone's either inside or already at their car. There's a couple kids, but since school's out most of them are not concerned with Ryan and me. They just wanna go home. I want to go home. But I can't – not until I tell this douche bag off. He's had it coming all year, too, the dick.

"You shut your fucking mouth," I pant angrily. "You have no fucking clue what you're talking about!"

"I know your brother's a worthless little gay pussy," Ryan retorted. "I know that no one except you and your looser friends care about him. I know that he gets hard for boys, the little faggot."

"Shut up!" I yell, Ryan standing up. "He does not!"

"Does so," Ryan argues. "He told me so." Sweat run downs my neck, saturating my shirt collar.

"What?" I breathe.

"Oh, I know, Elric," Ryan teases. "I know all about him and a boy named David." I stare at him, Winry walking over to me.

"Ed, what is he talking about?" Winry questions frantically. "Who's David?"  
"How the hell do you know about that?" I ask behind a clenched jaw.

"You moron, I just told you," Ryan snaps, wiping blood off his upper lip. "The faggot

told me himself when he was locked in a closet in the locker room. He cried like a baby, claiming he didn't mean to get hard for him. 'I didn't mean to! He touched me all over! I didn't want him to touch me!' He told me everything. After I heard enough, I dragged him out of that closet and roughed him up a little. Think he went home sick that day." I start walking over, Winry grabbing my arm.

"Ed, who the hell is David?" Winry demands, about to cry. "What is Ryan talking about?" I yank my arm away from her and keep walking.

"You had no right," I tell Ryan angrily. "What happened wasn't his fault. He was molested you sick bastard!" The air around me tenses, Winry gasping loudly.

"M-Molested?" Winry questions, her voice shaking. I ignore her and glare at Ryan.

"A boy molested him when he was eleven," I continue, my own voice shaking. But mine's not shaking 'cause I'm about to cry. Mine's shaking 'cause I'm furious. "He was over powered by a teenage boy and violated when he was just a little kid!" I grab Ryan's collar, a bunch of kids watching. "He's not a faggot! A bad thing happened to him! And you've been locking him in closets and torturing him so he spills his guts!? You've been forcing him to relieve the worst moments of his life!? You're sick, you know that!?" I raise my fist and punch him right in the face, Ryan grunting. He struggles, trying to get away but I'm stronger.

"I didn't know," Ryan argues loudly.

"It doesn't matter!" I roar. "You don't treat other people that way!" Ryan glares at me and kicks my left leg. I lose my balance and fall, Ryan grabbing the foot of my prosthetic. He rips it off and tosses it away, hovering over me.

"Don't tell me what to do, Elric," Ryan growls, standing over me. I quiver, laying face up on my back as he heaves over me. "I can treat people however I want. That means I'm totally cool with teasing a kid who's been molested or a cripple who throws up all the time. I don't care what happened to you and your brother. And you know what? No one else does, either."

"Get off him!" I turn my head, Ling, Mei, and Lan Fan running over.

"Oh, Ling," Ryan says, still hovering over me. I whimper and Ryan says, "What's up, man?"

"You heard me," Ling says, stopping right next to Ryan. "Get off him." Mei kneels down beside me.

"Are you okay?" Mei asks. I nod.

"I hit my head," I inform her, trying not to cry. "I'm okay, though." Mei nods.

"Winry's getting your leg," Mei tells me.

"Edward!" That's Dada's voice. I sit up, Ryan pushing me back down.

"Dada!" I cry, Mei looking over.

"Al!" Mei cries happily.

"Brother!" Al calls. He hurries over and squats down next to Mei. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I reply, feeling guilty. Hopefully no one but Winry and Ryan heard what we were arguing over. I mean, practically no one was around, but still. Someone could have over heard and that's the last thing Al needs right now.

"Get off my son," Dad warns. Ryan gets off instantly.

"He started it," Ryan says quickly. I sit up, Winry handing me my leg.

"I don't care," Dada replies. I put my leg back on and Al helps me up. Ling's glaring at Ryan, Lan Fan standing next to him with her hands on her hips. Ryan grins and looks at Al.

"Hey," he greets, Al's chin quivering. "I missed you, little faggot boy."

"Leave him alone!" Mei cries.

"Shut the fuck up!" Ryan yells at Mei.

"That is enough." Everyone turns to find Ms. Hawkeye standing near the door.

"Ms. Hawkeye, Ryan's been –" Ms. Hawkeye holds her hand up, cutting Ling off.

"Ryan, Edward, I need you in my office," Ms. Hawkeye says.

"Ms. Hawkeye, I have to get the boys out of here," Dad says. "They've got an appointment."

"I understand, Mr. Elric, but Ed punched this boy in the face," Ms. Hawkeye replies coolly. "I told him last semester fighting would not be tolerated. I went easy in the fall, but I can't go easy this time."

"Hold on a second," Winry butts in. "You have no idea what happened. Ed wouldn't punch him in the face for no reason! Ryan was saying awful things about Al! He was bragging about how he locks him up in closets and bullies him!" Winry looks over at Al, Al staring at the ground.

"Thank you for telling me, Winry," Ms. Hawkeye says. "Regardless, I must punish them both. I'm sorry." Al takes my hand, squeezing it lightly. Dad walks over to Ms. Hawkeye and whispers in her ear. She nods and looks over at me.

"Let's go, Ed," she says gently. "You and I need to have a chat. It'll be quick, I promise." I look at all my friends, all of them really worried looking.

"Um, thanks for coming to help," I say quietly. "You didn't have to."

"Of course we did," Ling argues. "We were getting ready to leave when we saw Ryan kick your leg. That wasn't cool."

"You, uh, didn't hear anything we said to each other, did you?" I ask nervously.

"Some people are talking, but mostly about Ryan bullying Al and how terrible it is," Lan Fan tells me. "Nobody really knows any details about what you guys were saying to each other. Too much background noise and hardly anybody was actually outside during the fight." I nod, sighing in relief. That's good. Even if I get in huge trouble, at least the molestation was kept a secret. Only…. My eyes widen and I look over at Ryan. Shit! He and Winry know! It's not just Winry! I let go of Al's hand and hurry over to Ms. Hawkeye.

"Ms. Hawkeye," I say, squirming on my feet, "Ryan knows Al was molested! He's gonna tell everyone! Al's gonna go back to the bad place he was in and it's all my fault!"

"Edward, calm down," Ms. Hawkeye tells me. "Ryan won't be telling anyone anything for a while. Trust me." I blink at her, a few tears rolling down my face. She smiles sadly at me. "We need to get moving. This conversation won't take long." She turns to Ryan and barks, "Let's go, Vaus!" Ryan glares at us and Dada takes my hand briefly and squeezes it. We start walking and Al hurries to catch up with us. I look guiltily over at Dad and sigh.

"I'm sorry I got in a fight," I say guiltily. "He just wouldn't shut up. He was saying terrible things about Al." Dada nods.

"I know, but, Edward," Dad sighs. "You know better. Violence is never the answer. It doesn't solve problems."

"I-I'm sorry," I whimper, my throat tightening up. "I c-couldn't…. I couldn't just stand by and let him talk that way about Al."

"I understand, but," Dad says quietly, "Now you're in trouble and there's nothing I can do." Ms. Hawkeye takes us to her office and me, Al, and Dada go in before Ryan since we've got family therapy in, like, an hour in a town that's thirty minutes away. She sits down at her desk and I stand near the chairs Dad and Al sit down in.

"Ed, please, have a sit," Ms. Hawkeye instructs. I shake my head. "Well, alright." She sighs and shakes her head. "You've really put me in a bind here, Edward. Even though I have to punish you, it makes me physically sick to do it. I know what Ryan said. Winry told me. It's abhorrent and Al's reaction gave me all the ground I need to punish Ryan accordingly."

"Ms. Hawkeye," Al says, his voice shaking. He leans forward in his chair and says, "Please don't be mad at Brother. He was just trying to look out for me." Ms. Hawkeye nods, her fingers rotating the engagement ring on her left hand.

"Alphonse, I know that," she replies. "And because of the circumstances, I can do something a little different for punishment that I think Ed might actually enjoy."

"What?" I ask, Ms. Hawkeye smiling at me.

"Your math and science grades are really amazing," Ms. Hawkeye praises. "My fiancée told me recently that there is a great need for tutoring in math and science in this town, particularly for middle school kids. I thought instead of suspending you as I know that won't do you any good or give you weeks of detention, you could tutor a couple nights a week for a little while. I know your schedule gets busy with all the therapy appointments and I don't want to take you away from that, but you can always do tutoring in the evenings at the library for an hour or two. What do you think?" I blink, suddenly less anxious.

"Oh," I say stupidly. "Well, um, considering detention gave me a panic attack I think I might be able to handle tutoring."

"That's a wonderful idea," Dada enthuses. "It'll look great on his resume, too. Thank you so much, Ms. Hawkeye."

"I have to warn you," Ms. Hawkeye tells me. "Roy might be dropping in from time to time. This is a new program that the police department and the school district are trying out to try and prevent teenage crime and drug use."

"Um," I say nervously. "I can handle it."

"Glad to hear it," Ms. Hawkeye says.

"What measures are we going to take to ensure Ryan doesn't spread sensitive information around the school?" Dada asks.

"The school resource officer will be monitoring the school more frequently and Ryan is not going to be returning to school for a while," Ms. Hawkeye explains. "He'll be suspended outside of school for two months. In addition, I'll be informing him that if talk of Al's molestation or any of the abuse is heard outside of anyone's mouth besides Ed, Al, Winry, or the school faculty, charges for harassment will be brought up against him. Those are sufficient grounds for charges, Mr. Elric." Dada nods.

"Oh, believe me, it's not some empty threat you'll be making to this boy," Dada says seriously. "If I hear that anyone is talking about something they shouldn't and making life hard for my little boy, those charges will be pressed. My boys have had such a hard life. I will not allow immature high school students to contribute to that if I can help it." Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"My fiancée would be more than happy to guide you through the process if you have to go through with it," Ms. Hawkeye tells him. "We'll know in a couple days if pressing charges will be necessary. Edward?" I look over at her.

"Yeah?"

"Keep your ear to the ground and inform me if you hear talk of the abuse you went through or people talking of Al's molestation," Ms. Hawkeye instructs. "Those things should be kept private between yourselves and the people you choose to disclose it with. And keep your nose clean, Ed. No more fighting. You're a good kid and this tutoring deal only applies to this circumstance. If you get in trouble again, I can't extend the same offer twice." I nod.

"Thank you," I say gratefully. "It means a lot."

"We need to get going, Ms. Hawkeye," Dad announces. "Family therapy is about thirty minutes away." Ms. Hawkeye nods.

"Okay, thank you for your time," she says. Dada and Al stand up and Al takes my hand. We move toward the door and Ms. Hawkeye says, "Oh, Alphonse?" Al turns to look at her.

"Huh?" Al asks. Ms. Hawkeye smiles warmly at him.

"I hope to see you in school tomorrow," Ms. Hawkeye tells him. "Your teachers and friends miss you." Al grins weakly.

"Uh, yeah," Al replies. "I'll try, okay?" Ms. Hawkeye nods, still smiling at him.

"Have a good evening," Ms. Hawkeye dismisses and we all leave, Ryan glaring at us as we all leave the office.

We don't talk about what happened as we drive to family therapy. Maybe Dad wants to talk to this Dr. Bergmann about what happened. I don't know. Or maybe there's nothing really to say about it. I mean, Dada doesn't seem angry that I got in a fight. But that's not really what I'm concerned about. I'm worried about people finding out about the molestation. I mean, our friends outside of Winry and Ling don't even know we were abused. If Rose or Lan Fan or Mei or Paninya found out about Al getting molested when he was eleven, that'd force us to tell them everything and I'm not ready to do that. I wanna tell them when I'm ready, not because they heard a rumor or something. Plus, I don't want Al to have go live through more bullying and isolation than he's already been through. School would be a nightmare and might send Al right back to his bad place. Since he's still in the low place, going back to the bad place might even make him suicidal and try to kill himself. I don't want him to go through that. I can't lose him. Al's the person that means the most to me. All those mornings I made him peanut butter sandwiches and picked out his clothes and rocked him to sleep…. Those memories mean a lot to me. And some mornings, I still make him a peanut butter and banana sandwich to take to school. I don't want that to go away.

We get to the office and Dad stops the car. He sighs and turns the car off. I stare at him, Dada smiling weakly at me. He really doesn't seem mad at me. That's good. I can't handle it when Dada's mad at me. We all get out and I look at the brick building. I read the name of the agency, but quickly forget it as I follow Dad inside. The name doesn't matter. I know the therapist's name so who cares who she works for. We get inside and find the right suite in the building. Dada checks us in, thanking the secretary for getting us in so soon. He did just call yesterday. I look around. The waiting room is a lot different than Dr. Hughes'. There's no toys or puzzles or little kids. There's a teenage girl sitting far away from us looking at her phone, and a boy on the other side of the room with his arms crossed. Al whimpers and hides behind me. Dad guides us to three chairs and we all sit down. All the pictures on the wall are of those weird blobby-things offices have and landscapes. I guess that makes sense, though. This agency's focus is teenagers, young adults, and families. They can't cater to kids like Dr. Hughes' office does. All Dr. Hughes sees are kids. I mean, he sees teenagers but that's 'cause teenagers are kids and his office only deals with kids. I think Dr. Hughes will see somebody into their twenties, though, if they aren't ready to get a grown-up therapist. That'll probably be me and Al. I anxiously wring my hands together, Dad scrolling through his phone. I see him typing so he's probably responding to an email. I guess he wants to respond to someone before therapy starts. Al's looking at all the pictures on the wall, his mouth a thin line. His eyes are green today. I didn't notice until now. He looks a lot like Mom.

"Edward, Alphonse, and Victor," a woman calls. Standing at the door to the offices is a middle-aged red headed woman. I guess that's Dr. Bergmann. She has a name tag but I can't read it from here. My family stands up and I take Al's hand. She smiles at us and I read her name tag when we get close enough. Yup – that's Dr. Bergmann. She looks nice. Doesn't mean she is, but it does make me feel a little better. She takes us to her office and invites us to sit down. We do, Al staring at his shoes. Dr. Bergmann sits in front of us and crosses her legs.

"Okay," she begins. "This week is going to be some basic introduction stuff so I can get better acclimated to your family's basic needs. I did get the gist of it from Dr. Hughes, but I always like to start off hearing it from the client directly. Helps me understand if I hear it from you rather than just from someone else." Dr. Bergmann turns to Dad, a smile on her face. "I presume you're dad?" Dada nods.

"Dr. Victor von Hohenheim-Elric," Dad introduces himself. "It's a pleasure." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"Pleasure is all mine," she replies. "Now, tell me a little about yourself. Try to include any personal mental health struggles you've had, if any. And please try to only talk about yourself, not your children. They'll get their chance to talk to me and if we have time, we can work through some things this week as a unit. Our main goal this week is to set some boundaries for each other once I know you three better and pick out specific things to work out and how to make your family unit stronger." Dad nods.

"Okay, um, well I'm forty-three and I have a doctorate in organic and biochemistry from the University of Illinois," Dad says nervously. "I have used it for both research science and teaching at the university level. I met my deceased wife, Trisha, in the senior year of my undergraduate degree. We married three years later, after her senior year. I was finishing up my doctorate at the time. I was twenty-five and she was twenty-one. We moved to Resembool because Trish got a job teaching kindergarten and she was born and raised here. We got pregnant with Ed in 1999 and he was born in February of 2000. We got pregnant a second time fairly quickly, but Trisha had a miscarriage. I think I might have experienced a short depression, but it was quickly resolved when Trish got pregnant a third time in late 2000. Al was born premature, though in May of 2001 and the night he was born, we got the news that Trisha had cervical cancer." Dad stops talking and takes his glasses off. I watch as he cleans them and puts them back on his face.

"I suppose I was depressed then as well," Dad says quietly. "But when both Al and Trisha were in the hospital, I had Ed to look after. I don't know if I got out of the depression or if it just got shoved to the backburner. It's hard to know. But as Trisha improved and felt better, I started to feel better. She was in remission for a little while, but after Al's second birthday, the cancer came back. It spread to her liver, then to her bladder. Her uterus was removed a few months after Al was born because it spread there initially. Anyway, she fought the second time for a year, but died right before Al turned four. That is a period in my life that I know I was depressed. I got through it, though, thanks to my boys. And, uh, that's when I met Vanessa."

"And Vanessa is your second wife, correct?" Dr. Bergmann asks. Dada nods, Al squirming anxiously in his seat.

"Yes," Dad answers sadly. "I met her in a time in my life where I falsely thought I couldn't be a single parent. I was coming out of my depression and…. I don't know. I had this picture in my head of marrying a nice woman and that would help my boys heal. I thought we needed to be a 'complete' family unit. I was wrong, obviously. When I learned what she had been doing behind my back for seven years to my children…. I suppose that was when I really felt the cloud of depression. I began the divorce process while she awaited trial and I had never felt more hopeless and useless. I sill blame myself for what happened to my boys and at the time I had no idea how to help them. I still don't sometimes and I guess that pretty much brings you up to speed." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"Alright, thank you, Victor," Dr. Bergmann says. "Edward? Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself?" I swallow nervously and look over at Al. He asks me with his eyes if I'm okay. I tell him I don't know. I don't even know what she wants me to tell her.

"I, um, don't know what to say," I say stupidly, blush on my cheeks. Dr. Bergmann smiles at me.

"Just tell me about you, Edward," Dr. Bergmann tells me. "How old you are, what grade you're in, your hobbies, and maybe some of your coping skills. We don't have to talk about the abuse or your stepmother if you don't feel comfortable doing so yet." I nod. I'm still anxious, but I know if I don't say anything we'll all just stare at each other until I do.

"Okay," I reply, my voice shaking. "Um, well first I mostly go by Ed, so you can call me that if you wanna. I, uh, am sixteen and I'm a sophomore. I get good grades and I'm in the advanced math and science program at school. I like to read, make puzzles with Al, play video games, and play outside, especially with Al and Winry. Winry's our friend. Uh, anyway…. When it all… ended I, uh, was low. I started cutting myself and setting fires. I don't do that stuff anymore, but sometimes I still wanna cut. When I do, I rub ice on my skin or color. I have lots of panic attacks and my anxiety's insane. I have bad dreams and I cry a lot. I word vomit when I get nervous and sometimes I actually throw up. I guess that's what you wanted me to say. I don't really know what coping skills means."

"That's okay, Ed," she assures me. "Coping skills would be behaviors you use to deal with your feelings. They can be both beneficial and harmful. The self-harm or setting fires are harmful coping skills while rubbing ice on your skin and coloring are beneficial. Do you have breathing exercises you do when you're panicked or upset?"

"I breathe in with my nose and out with my mouth," I answer. "I also have a list I say – mostly in my head but sometimes out loud – that helps when I'm anxious."

"Okay, and do you have a comfort item?" Dr. Bergmann asks. I blush and she says, "It's alright. You can tell me."

"I have a blankie and my stuffed lamb, Lamby," I admit softly.

"Any behaviors that make you feel more like a little kid than a sixteen-year-old that you'd like to tell me?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Are you talking about that regression stuff that Dr. Hughes talks about?" I question. Dr. Bergmann nods so I say, "Uh, yeah. I, um, wet the bed sometimes. I also sleep with Al and Dada and I like to be held when I'm scared. I used to suck on my blanket and Lamby, but I don't anymore." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"Alright," she says cheerfully. "Thank you very much, Edward. Now, Alphonse; tell me a little about yourself. Just tell me the same things Ed did if you feel like you can." Al nods and I can tell he's swallowing barf down.

"I'm fourteen," Al starts nervously. "I actually go by Al, but you don't have to call me that. I'm in 9th grade. I like school a lot. I'm good at science and I really like math. I volunteer at the cat shelter with my friend Mei on Tuesdays. I couldn't go today, but I'm gonna go next week. I like to play with Brother, watch movies, read, do puzzles, paint, play video games, and I really like riding my bike. I also like to go fishing and doing martial arts. Brother does, too. We just don't do that stuff right now. Um, I have a stuffed cat I carry around. His name's Chico. I'm in a low place right now so, I've been hurting myself. I have a plan to stop, though. Dr. Hughes helped my family make it. When…. When everything stopped I didn't get out of bed and didn't leave the house for a long time. I suck my thumb sometimes when I'm anxious or scared and I wet the bed a lot. I used to pee my pants during the day, but I don't do that anymore unless I have a panic attack. I have a list I say like Ed and, uh…."

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything else," she tells him. "I can tell you're anxious and I got enough basic info from all three of you. I can tell that all three of you have dealt with or are currently dealing with depression which is normal given your family's entire history. Losing a spouse and a mother is never easy, nor is abuse and domestic violence. Since you boys are anxious, let's steer away from the past and focus on some simple goals to help your family begin the healing process. Let's start by forming ground rules for our session and talking about what you think is a part of the healing process. I feel like the biggest ground rule we need is to be respectful. No interrupting or trying to finish sentences for one another. Allow each other time to form thoughts and sentences. We shouldn't pressure anyone to talk about something they don't feel comfortable sharing and be understanding of some behaviors, regression, and coping skills. The last ground rule I can think of is no cell phone use. Is everyone okay with these?" We all nod so Dr. Bergmann says,

"Okay, let's move on to the healing process. What are some things or activities that are part of the general process of healing that we all go through?" My family sits in silence for a minute, Dr. Bergmann smiling weakly at us. "Okay, Victor? What's one thing you feel like is a part of the healing process?"

"Well, I feel like communication is important," Dad says. "If we don't communicate we can't understand how we all feel or what's going on in our lives. Healing involves talking so communication is part of that process."

"Okay, that's a good one," Dr. Bergmann agrees. "What about you, Ed? What do you think is a part of the healing process?"

"Like, what helps us get better?" I ask.

"Primarily, yes, but that isn't the only aspect of healing," Dr. Bergmann clarifies. "The process also includes aspects that may not be helpful or even good. Just like there are good things, there are bad things. If you can't think of a good part of healing, you can mention a bad thing."

"Um, I think that coping is part of healing," I tell her. "Like, when the abuse ended I coped really bad but as I got better, I started doing good things to deal with my feelings and bad memories."

"Very good," Dr. Bergmann says. "That just leaves Al. What's part of the healing process to you?"

"Patience," Al says instantly. "I…. I can be a lot to handle. I know that. It's not easy and Dad and Brother are always patient with me and each other. We're not perfect, but we try to be patient."

"Okay, so out of those three things, which one do you personally struggle with?" Dr. Bergmann asks. "It's okay if you feel like you struggle with all three. That's perfectly normal based on your family's history."

"Coping," Al answers softly. "I'm hurting myself and that's not good. I also suck my thumb which I know is bad, too, 'cause if it might hurt my teeth or if other kids find out…." Al trails off and looks at his lap.

"I struggle with communication and patience," Dada admits. "I'm guilty of looking at my phone and reading emails when I should be spending time with my kids and talking to them. They might feel like I've closed myself off to them because of how time-consuming my work is. There are times where I lose patience with the boys, even though I know that what is going on or the behaviors they are having aren't their fault. I know that if they had never been abused, they wouldn't have those behaviors at all. I need to find ways to be patient with them, even when I'm frustrated."

"Okay," Dr. Bergmann says. "Edward?"

"Patience," I say. "I'm not always good at the other stuff, but I think patience is my biggest problem. I'm not patient with myself and I can lose patience with Al or Dada or even my friends really quick. When I lose patience, I get angry and snap at the people I love. I don't want to do that anymore."

"Then let's set two goals for each of you based on what you said you want to change," Dr. Bergmann suggests. "These goals won't make everything magically go away, nor does meeting them for a week mean a change in behavior. What these goals do are give you two tasks that you can work on and accomplish in between visits and see your progress over the course of a couple weeks. If we can target the weaknesses in your family inhibiting growth and healing, we can begin to fix what doesn't work, strengthen your family, and make new strides in healing as a unit." Dr. Bergmann stands up and walks over to her desk. She pulls out some index cards and a Sharpie before walking back over to us and sitting down.

"Okay, Victor," Dr. Bergmann begins. "You mentioned using your phone when you feel like you could be talking with your boys. Is this at meal times?" Dada nods.

"Yes, particularly breakfast," Dad answers. "I typically have early classes every semester and college students tend to stay up late and email me when I'm already in bed. The morning is the only opportunity I have before class to look through and respond to emails they've sent."

"Okay, so would a reachable goal for you be to not use your phone at the breakfast table?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Yes, I believe so," Dad replies. Dr. Bergmann hands Dada a blank index card and the Sharpie.

"Write out the goal like this," Dr. Bergmann instructs. "'I will not use my phone at the breakfast table.'" Dad nods and writes, Dr. Bergmann saying, "If you do not reach the goal next time we meet, we can make the time frame smaller and go from there. The next time we see each other, we can talk about whether or not the goal was actually attainable or if you had trouble meeting it. We'll do that for all the goals we make today."

"Shall I make out my second goal?" Dada asks.

"Of course," Dr. Bergmann replies with a smile.

"I will count to twenty when I get frustrated with the boys so I have a moment to regain my patience," Dada says. "Is that good?"

"I think that's very good," Dr. Bergmann tells us. "I think you can reach that goal, too. Just remember to evaluate your progress every week and find a way to record how you did each week or how you tweaked your goal so we can talk about it next time." Dr. Bergmann looks over at me and I swallow nervously.

"Ed, do you have any ideas about a goal for yourself?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Um, I don't know," I squeak.

"That's okay, I'll help," Dr. Bergmann tells me. "You mentioned that you have been struggling with patience and anger. Let's try to make two goals that center around those topics. How about this – I will sit by myself in a quiet place for five to ten minutes when I am angry so I can calm down. Is that a good goal, Ed?" I nod.

"I like that," I say. Dr. Bergmann gives me an index card and Dada hands me the Sharpie. I write the goal and look up at Dr. Bergmann. "What about my second goal?"

"What do you think you could do to help improve your patience?" Dr. Bergmann asks me. I shrug.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "Uh, maybe slowing down? My brain moves kinda fast sometimes and makes me anxious. When I'm anxious, I can be really impatient."

"Okay, what's a goal we can make to help slow your brain down?" Dr. Bergmann asks.

"Um, maybe… maybe 'I will take a few deep breaths before saying something or doing something when I feel anxious or upset'."

"Very good," Dr. Bergmann praises. "Go head and write that underneath your other goal." I do and look back up.

"Al, let's make two goals for you now," Dr. Bergmann says. "You focused on improving your coping skills, particularly self-harm and thumb sucking. Let's focus on making goals centered around beginning to not do those things anymore. Can you think of a goal to make for yourself?"

"Um, I think a good one would be that I will count to ten when I feel like I need to cut and hopefully that'll give me time to decide if that's something I really wanna do," Al says.

"Okay, here's your index card," Dr. Bergmann says, giving Al the index card. "Write your goal like this; 'I will count to ten when I feel like hurting myself before making a decision on what I should do.'" Al nod and writes, Dr. Bergmann going on, "Now, what goal do you want to make in terms of thumb sucking? I know it's a comfort measure and not immediately harmful, but I also understand you'll be fifteen in a couple months and don't want to be sucking your thumb forever."

"I wanna try to not suck my thumb during the day, even when I'm scared or remembering something bad," Al says. "I wasn't doing it so much in the day time until…. Until I told D-Dada and B-B-Brother about my b-b-bad touch."

"I think that's a goal you can reach by the next time we see each other," Dr. Bergmann tells him gently. "Write this on your index card; 'I will do my best to only suck my thumb at nighttime, mostly when I am asleep'." Al writes that down, Dr. Bergmann looking at us.

"Is there anything specific you want to talk about as a family?" Dr. Bergmann asks us.

"Um, what do we talk about here?" I ask nervously.

"Well, I think the first couple sessions will mostly be getting to know each other and the crisis that had your dad call me sooner than he had planned – Al's history with sexual abuse," Dr. Bergmann explains. "We'll also talk about your father's guilt and feelings of resentment you may feel toward not only him, but perhaps other adults in your life and even your brother as well. We can also talk about whatever you want to talk about, just like you do with Dr. Hughes. Make sense?" I nod

"Uh, yeah, I'm just anxious," I tell her. "I don't like change."  
"I realize this is stressful and uncomfortable for all of you," Dr. Bergmann replies. "But

it's just like when you started therapy with Dr. Hughes. Over time, it'll get easier for you to talk with me and share things as a family rather than one-on-one."

"Okay," I reply.

"If there's nothing else, you guys are free to go," Dr. Bergmann tells us. "Make sure to keep track of your progress with meeting your goals, okay? Why don't we plan on meeting in two weeks and Dr. Hughes will keep me posted on updates with talk of the molestation as it is very relevant to what we'll be focusing on here."

"Thank you very much for your time," Dada says, leaning over and shaking her hand. "I appreciate you making time for us today. I know it was short notice."

"It was a pleasure," she assures him. "Your boys are good kids. I hope this additional resource will help your family to heal as a unit." Dad's chin quivers and he nods.

"I hope so, too," Dada agrees sadly. "It's been a bad couple of years." Dr. Bergmann nods.

"I'm sure," she says. "I am truly sorry for what your family's been through."

"I am, too," Dada replies. "Ready, boys?" I nod. I am more than ready to leave. I'm so anxious. I wanna go home. I stand up and stare at my index card as we leave the office, Dada making our next appointment. I think I can handle trying to do these things. I glance over at Al who's staring at his index card, too. We leave the building, getting into the car and Dada pulls out of the parking lot.

"Uh, Dada?" Al asks.

"Yes?"

"If I don't meet my goals, am I gonna get in trouble?" Al asks. I look over at Dad. That's a good question. At least, I think it is.

"No, honey," Dad assures him. "But, we do need to try our best to hold each other accountable. That's the only way we'll meet our goals to begin with."

"So, d'you think this'll actually help?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"I think so," Dada tells me. "I've been running from this for so long, denying a lot of my feelings and hiding in my job to avoid dealing with the repercussions of my own actions and inactions. It's time we stop running and meet these things head on. It's the only way to improve. I feel like Dr. Bergmann can help in ways Dr. Hughes can't." Dad's brow furrows and he glances over at me. "Did you like her?"

"She's nice enough, I guess," I reply. "I'm still pretty unsure about all of this."

"I liked her," Al chimes happily. "I think setting goals was a good idea." Dad smiles fondly at him.

"Good, I'm glad," he says warmly.

"Let's get something to eat, Dada," I say. "I'm starving." Dad nods.

"Sounds like a plan," he replies. I pull my index card out of my pocket and read it again:

I will sit by myself in a quiet place for five to ten minutes when I am angry so I can calm down.

I will take a few deep breaths before saying something or doing something.

I put the card on my lap and stare out the window. I watch the frozen trees and other cars zip by, still not really sure what to make of this family therapy thing. We've never sat down as a family to talk about the abuse. Ever. The closest to that we've gotten is when I told Dada about  
That Night, when I have the courage to talk about my bad dreams (which, if I'm being honest, is rare), and yesterday when Al admitted to being bad touched. The abuse is just not something I talk about, with anyone really, but especially with Dad. I don't know why. Part of it's probably 'cause of me blaming him for it. The other part's probably 'cause I know how freaking guilty he feels. But I don't know that for sure. I just don't know if I can talk about the abuse or my feelings with a therapist and Dad in the room. It makes me kinda queasy just thinking about it. I glance back down at my goals for the next couple weeks and sigh. I'm gonna do my best to be positive about this whole family therapy thing, even though I'm kinda anxious about it. Besides, I like having a goal to reach. It'll make me feel like I've made some progress which'll be nice. I glance over at Dada who's talking – just talking – to Al. I don't know about what, but I smile anyway. Family therapy's important to them so I'll do my best to make it work for me, too. It's the least I can do after everything they've put up with for me. I'll be brave and make it work. No more running. It's like Dad said – it's time to face this head on and I think the only way we can do that is if we do it together.


	53. The Fence Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was never good at climbing fences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed's telling his story in this chapter so this is your child abuse warning. Thanks for reading!

It blows my mind that every freaking week Wednesday still manages sneak up on me. It's like that kid on Halloween who's, like, thirteen, and hides behind a wall to scare little kids. He always hides behind the same wall, too, so all the neighborhood kids should remember he's there, but they never do. He scares them every year the same way. That's Wednesday for me. I mean, I know it's coming. Wednesday is a constant in everybody's life 'cause it's a fucking day of the week. So, of course I know it's coming. But every Wednesday morning I wake up, surprised and upset that it's already Wednesday. This Wednesday is really gonna suck, too. Last week, I talked about the basement and it sucked so bad. I hate the basement. It's one of the worst things that's ever happened to me. I hate talking about it. This week, I get to talk about the fence. In my head, there are three things she did to me that I think are the absolute worst. The chain, the basement, and the fence. Those are the three things that will probably keep me up at night for the rest of my life. Those are the things that get me all worked up, even almost three years later. Those are the things I wish I could just wipe away from my memory.

I'm sitting at my desk in math class, staring at the clock. I'm trying to figure out my group plan post-fence. After the fence happened, nothing new really happened. She mostly stuck with the chain, beating us, playing house, the basement, starving us, and the cleaning game. It's not like she really came up with anything new after that. So, I guess after I talk about the fence, there'll only be two-ish more weeks of my story left. I'll jump to three years after the fence and talk about Al's breakdown at Winry's house that got her arrested then talk a little about living in the foster homes. I won't be able to go into a ton of details, but that'll be the end of my story. What'll group be like when I'm not telling my story? Will I finally be able to talk to the group about what's going on now? I don't know. I really don't. I watch the clock, anxiety rising up on me. I don't wanna talk about the fence today. I've been dreaming about it a lot lately. In my dreams, the fence goes all the way up the sky. Sometimes, I'll climb and climb and never get to the top. Other times, I'll get Al over the jagged edge at the top, only for him to fall off. Sometimes, I just dream about what actually happened. And even worse is when she catches me and drags me off the fence. I hate the fence. I really, really hate the fence. The fence took my leg away from me. Well, sort of. It was mostly her that did that.

The rest of the school day goes by and I can barely remember any of it. I kinda didn't pay attention 'cause I've been thinking of the fence all day. I walk to my locker, Al already there. He smiles at me and I smile back. I'm really proud of Al. He didn't want to go to school. He even cried all morning 'cause he didn't think he could handle it. His anxiety was feeding him all the worst-case scenarios for going to school today. He was worried about literally everything. But Dada and I gently talked him down and he slowly started to calm down. After a complete mental break down, he felt like he could try going to school today. He made it through the day and I'm super proud of him. I tell him with my eyes that he did a good job as I mess with stuff in my locker. Al grins happily and we start to walk outside. I've been really observant today and I didn't hear anyone talking shit on Al or spreading his secrets around. I guess that means Ms. Hawkeye scared Ryan-Douche-Canoe-Vaus to stay quiet. Ms. Hawkeye can be pretty scary sometimes. We walk outside and Dad's car is already waiting for us. We hurry and get in, Dada on his phone. My brow furrows and Dada says,

"No, it's fine. I think I can do that. Well, Ed's taking the permit test, but we might be doing that before Saturday. I'll let you know. Okay. Okay. I look forward to it. Alright, good bye."

"What was that?" I ask.

"Oh, Lucy asked me out," Dad replies. "We're going to an exhibition in Champaign-Urbana on Saturday night. Do you boys want to spend the evening with Granny?" I shrug.

"Sure, but I can still take the permit test, right?" I ask.

"Yes, honey, of course," Dad says. "We can actually take the test tomorrow afternoon if you want. We don't have to wait until Friday or Saturday to take the test."

"If Ed passes, will he drive us home?" Al asks.

"Um, no," Dada laughs. "He legally can't drive with you in the car. We might stop in a parking lot, though, for practice when he passes. I'm okay with you being in the car, Al, if we're just in a parking lot."

"So, Brother can't drive if I'm with him?" Al asks.

"That's right," Dada replies. "When he gets his license, he can drive with you but not while he has his permit. Ed's only allowed to drive with me."

"Ling said that his dad was mean to him when he taught him how to drive," I say.

"I won't be mean to you, Edward," Dada assures me. "No one is good at something the first time they try. We won't go on to the road until you tell me you're ready."

"Um, well, I wanna take the test tomorrow, then," I decide. "It'll be fun." Dad grins.

"Sounds like a plan, Ed," Dada says. "We'll get something nice to eat after and take Ed to a parking lot so he can drive."

"Heck yeah!" I cry happily. "I'll have my license before junior year!"

"I think you will," Dad agrees. "You only need to have your permit for about six months or so before you can take the test to get your license. You'll be driving to school next year." Dada sniffles and shakes his head. "Oh, you boys are growing up too fast."

"Oh, so if I get my permit, does that mean I get a phone this weekend?" I ask.

"My goodness, it does," Dada says, like he's realized it for the first time. "Have you thought about what you want?"

"I want an iPhone," I tell him. "The really big one."

"Ah, the plus model?" Dad muses. "Well, okay. Will it even fit in your pockets?" I shrug.

"Who cares?" I ask. "The super iPhone is super cool." We pull into Dr. Hughes' office parking lot and Dada parks.

"Do you want me to stay?" Dada asks.

"I'm talking about the fence, Dada," I say quietly. "You know how this went down. I told you the truth after she got arrested."

"Yes, but I know how hard this will be for you," Dada replies. "The fence cost you your leg and that's a touchy subject for you."

"It's all touchy for me, Dad," I argue weakly. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to. There's nothing new I'm gonna say that you haven't heard."

"That's not the only reason for me to stay," Dad tells me. "Sharing those things with me is important but I can sit in just to support you." I sigh softly, bending over in my seat.

"It makes you sad," Al says quietly from the back seat. "I don't think Ed likes seeing you sad." Dad sighs and shakes his head.

"It should make me sad, Al," Dad replies. "Hearing what you boys went through because of my own negligence should make me upset. I could have ended it all if I had just been there for you but I wasn't and you suffered."

"Yeah, but you didn't mean for any of that to happen," Al argues.

"Honey, it doesn't matter," Dad says. "Intent doesn't matter anymore. Intention doesn't spare you from what happened as a result of my carelessness, Al. Nothing does." Al's chin quivers but he doesn't say anything.

"You can come in if you want," I tell Dada softly. "But you don't have to. That's all I was trying to say." Dad smiles weakly.

"You are such a sweet boy," Dada praises softly. "If you think you can handle it on your own, I won't stay. But if you want me to, I will."

"I can handle this one, Dada," I reply. "But I won't bark at you if you stay." I open the door and get out, Al following me.

"Then I'll see you after group, okay?" Dada says. "I'm proud of you, Edward." I smile, my blood getting all sugary and sweet. I nod and wave, Dada rolling up his window and pulling out of the parking lot. I take Al's hand and we walk into the building together.

Like every week, there's the circle of chairs and a snack table pushed up against the far wall. Me and Al sit down where we always do, Dr. Hughes talking with some of the other kids. That Lindsay girl with the dead brother waves weakly at us and I wave back. She grins and sits down and I scan the room. I'm looking for Nicole and Hannah. I'm still super pissed at them for what happened last week. I mean, I'm less pissed at Hannah since she apologized, but I'm still pretty pissed at Nicole. Dr. Hughes stops talking and walks over to us. He sits down next to me and asks,

"Looking for someone?"

"Not really," I mumble, looking away.

"How did family therapy go?" Dr. Hughes questions.

"It was weird," Al replies. "But I liked it. We made goals and when we see Dr. Bergmann in two weeks, we'll tell her if we could keep them or not."

"Sounds like Sophie," Dr. Hughes chuckles. "Well, I'm glad you liked it. I'm sure it'll feel less weird a few sessions in."

"I don't know what to say to her," I blurt. "Dada's there. What do I say?"

"Ed, you can say whatever you're comfortable saying," Dr. Hughes tells me. "That's the whole point. You can talk about the abuse, your feelings, or anything that pops into your head just like you do with me."

"She mentioned she wanted to focus on feelings of guilt and resentment," I say. Dr. Hughes nods and I go on, "She mentioned I might resent Al. Why would she think that?"

"Some siblings do," Dr. Hughes answers. "For instance, there are abuse scenarios where only one child in a group of siblings is abused. That would lead to feelings of resentment from the abused child directed at the non-abused siblings. Make sense?"

"Yeah, but why would I resent Al?" I ask, baffled.

"I don't think you do," Dr. Hughes says. "But if you did, that'd be a personal journey for you to make. Our feelings don't always make sense, Ed. You know that from experience. Getting to the bottom of our stranger feelings takes work and most of the time it's a journey we take alone." I nod.

"I don't, you know," I say, Al glancing over at me. "I never have." Al grins weakly.

"That's good to know," Al replies lightly waving at someone. My eyes are drawn to who he's waving at. It's Hannah. No sign of Nicole. Maybe she won't come. Group starts in, like, five minutes. Maybe she won't show up.

"I'll talk to you a little after group," Dr. Hughes says, standing.

"Okay," I reply, watching him walk off. I sigh, Al looking anxiously at me.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Al asks worriedly.

"I've talked about the fence before I can do it again," I tell him matter of factly. "It sucks, but it's the next part of the story." Al nods, frowning in thought.

"There's not much left, is there?" Al says.

"Nope," I reply. "It's weird. In a couple weeks, I won't have a story to tell anymore. I've been doing it for months. It's weird to think that in a couple weeks, it'll be over." Al nods in agreement.

"Yeah, it is," Al agrees. "A few months ago, we never even talked about what happened, not with anyone. Now we do. That's a good thing, I think."

"I think so, too," I say with a grin. "I think I feel better since telling my story and I guess that was the whole point of the group." Al smiles weakly at me.

"I, uh, maybe I feel better, too," Al tells me. "I mean, I still feel really low and wanna hurt myself, but…. I don't know. I feel…different. It's a good different, though. It's hard to explain."

"I getcha," I reply.

"So," Al says softly. "Uh, d'you really think you can handle talking about the fence?" I nod somberly.

"Yeah," I answer darkly. "I've done it before. I told Dad. I can tell these kids."

"I'll hold your hand if you need me to," Al says. I smile fondly at him and ruffle his hair.

"You're the best, Al," I say, Dr. Hughes reigning in the group. There's still no sign of Nicole. Good. I don't want her here.

"Okay, let's get started," Dr. Hughes announces, everyone quieting down and returning to their seats. He quickly scans for new members and when he sees there aren't any, he turns to me. "Want to start us off, Ed?" I nod. I set my watch and start talking,

"By the time I was ten, I was starting to get pretty desperate. It was like the older we got, the rougher Vanessa got. Guess she thought we could handle more as we got bigger. I don't know. It wasn't like we were actually getting bigger, though. When I was ten, I looked maybe eight and weighed less than that. I remember Dada was concerned and wanted to take me and Al to a doctor because he was concerned about our growth. Never happened, though. Vanessa would lie and say she did it and claim the doctor gave her ways to help us grow a little. When we didn't gain weight or get taller after a few months, Dada would bring it up and the cycle started all over again. I don't really know why the abuse got worse, honestly. I just know that it did. Vanessa was locking me in the basement a lot, I was getting hit with the chain a lot, and me and Al were constantly playing the cleaning game. We were missing school, but we were always missing school. I guess the only reason me and Al never got held back was 'cause even at our worst, we were decent students so missing school wasn't that big a deal. Raised lots of red flags for lots of people, but it never did anything. We were talking martial arts with Teacher still and we spent a lot of time with her. I had accidently told her things over the past year, but her constant hot-lining never did anything. By the time I was ten, I was really starting to think that me and Al were gonna be abused forever.

"The week before spring break when I was in fourth grade, Dada was gone and wouldn't be back until the Sunday spring break ended. Things were rough that spring break. Spending all day every day with Vanessa meant constant beatings, getting screamed at all the time, and never getting fed. By that Thursday, we hadn't eaten since Dad was home. It was so long ago, I actually didn't know how many days it had been. Vanessa said she had to work that day and I was planning on doing something drastic. I was going to take Al to Granny's auto repair shop and tell her everything. I was gonna let her take pictures and do everything she needed to with the hope that maybe, just maybe, things would end. Vanessa left around eight that morning and I waited a full hour before leaving. I had to be sure she wasn't just circling the neighborhood waiting for us to leave. She hated Teacher and hated that we went to see her so much. She knew Teacher was on to her so she did her best to make sure we didn't sneak out to see her. At around nine, me and Al started the long walk to Granny's shop. It took a while, but we finally made it. We were going to just go in through the front door when Al froze suddenly.

"'What?' I asked worriedly. 'What's the matter?' Al's eyes shifted to the road and he started shaking.

'I j-j-j-just s-saw h-h-her c-c-car go by,' he whispered. My eyes widened and I knew she'd be circling around any minute to drag us home. I looked around, my eyes landing on the old, rusty, jagged fence that encased the back of the property. Old cars were parked on the other side, but me and Al could drop down easily. I dragged him over to the fence and looked up at it. Bits of metal were sticking up at the top and I grimaced. I really didn't want to climb the fence. It was dangerous and I knew that. But I also knew I wanted the abuse to end and going through the front door would mean getting caught before Granny even saw me or Al. If I wanted to tell Granny the truth and end everything right then and there, I knew I had to climb the fence.

'Al, you go first,' I instructed. 'I won't let you fall. Stop before you get to the top. I'll climb over the bad part first and help you get over, okay?" Al nodded.

'O-Okay,' he stuttered. He started to climb the fence and I had to give him a boost. He was so weak from days of not eating that he needed some help getting started. Once he was climbing, I started to climb, helping Al when he needed me to. After a few tense moments, we made it to the top. Al stopped like I told him to and I started to climb over the jagged pieces of metal.

'Careful,' Al warned worriedly, looking over at the building. He gasped loudly and said, 'Brother! Her car's parked on the road! She's coming!' I knew I had to hurry. I knew she wouldn't hesitate to drag us both off the fence. I started panicking, not being as careful as I should have been. The wind blew suddenly and I nearly lost my balance. I felt my left leg, right below the knee, dig into a particularly sharp, long piece of metal as I fought to stay on the fence. I screamed, the metal going straight through my leg. Blood trickled out of the wound on both ends and I quivered on the fence, not sure what I should do.

'Brother!' Al frantically cried. 'Your leg's stuck!' I didn't have the guts to look at it. I tried to pull it out cleanly, but nearly fell off the fence. Instead of the metal pulling right out, the metal stayed stuck. I struggled to free my leg, the metal tearing through my calf. I screamed, feeling every muscle, vessel, and tissue slicing open as I finally managed to pull my leg out. I couldn't hang on so I fell on my back, landing hard on the gravel. I could feel my leg bleeding heavily and sat up, watching as Al carefully hoisted himself over the fence. He quickly jumped down and hurried over, his face turning green.

'Oh, no,' Al whimpered, his chin quivering.

'I'm fine,' I lied, fighting tears. 'Let's j-just g-g-get to G-Granny b-b-b-before she does. Help me up.' Al grimaced but held his hand out to me. I grabbed it and he pulled me to my feet. My left leg nearly gave out and I cried out in pain. It hurt worse than anything I had ever felt before. My leg was basically a river of blood and could barely support my weight. I tried to take a step and nearly toppled over, Al rushing over to help. He put my arm around him and said,

'I'll help you.' With Al's help, I limped to the back entrance of Granny's shop, Al opening the door.

'Granny!' Al cried. 'Granny, help! Ed's hurt!' We walked to the front desk, freezing when we saw Vanessa sitting in the waiting area, a smile on her face.

'My goodness, boys, you are in a pickle, aren't you?' She said sweetly, Granny coming in from the garage.

'God, Edward!' Granny called, hurrying over. She inspected my leg and said, 'How did this happen?!' I glanced over at Vanessa and hung my head in shame.

'I hoped a fence,' I answered, my little voice shaking. 'I almost fell and my leg got cut on some metal.'

'He needs a doctor,' Granny informed Vanessa stiffly. 'I should call Hohenheim.'

'Pinako, you know Victor can't be disturbed at work,' Vanessa lied coolly. 'I'll take him.'

'Like you took Al last year when his appendix was about to bust?' Granny questioned harshly. 'You don't have the best track record and I know you're on thin ice with Hohenheim. Don't act like you're not. He's not sure he can trust you with his boys.'

'He's still upset over something that happened a year ago?' Vanessa questioned dully, picking at her nails.

'Al could have died!' Granny cried, still looking at my torn-up leg. 'Izumi and Hohenheim both told me how sick the little guy was! And you didn't even try to have him checked out! You may have fooled Hohenheim, but you can't fool me. I see right through you and someday, I'll have these boys removed from under your thumb. Just you wait.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Vanessa told her. 'My step-sons are bad boys. I can't connect with them or get them to listen to me. I haven't fooled anyone. They're just bad kids.' Al whimpered, his chin quivering and Granny shook her head.

'I have half a mind to take Ed myself,' Granny said. 'I don't know what good it would do, though. Nobody in this town seems to think there's a problem besides myself and Izumi and Sig Curtis.'

'Because there's not a problem,' Vanessa insisted. 'Now, the longer you stand here and accuse me of abuse the longer Ed's on that leg. He's losing a lot of blood, you know.' Granny scowled at her and Vanessa smiled sweetly. 'Besides, it's not your responsibility to take care of these boys. It's mine. I could raise a stink if you take my step-son without my permission like Izumi did last year with Al. That wouldn't be good for anyone, including you. Let's just avoid a problem, okay?' I glanced up at Granny, her jaw tightening.

'If I have any reason to believe you didn't take him to the ER, I'm calling the police,' Granny informed her angrily.

'Oh, no,' Vanessa lamented sarcastically. 'How terrible. The police who can never find proof of what you've convinced yourself is true.' Granny scowled at Vanessa but quickly looked at me instead.

'Ed,' she addressed in a hushed tone, probably so Vanessa couldn't hear, 'Call me tonight if she doesn't take you ER. Call me or Izumi or even your father but please, call someone. I can't really see your leg, but judging by the amount of blood you're badly hurt. Do it when she's in bed if you're scared but please call someone.' I nodded, shaking because my leg hurt so damn bed.

'Okay,' I answered. Al helped me limp out to Vanessa's car and we got inside. I had every intention of calling someone that night 'cause I knew Vanessa had no plans of taking me to the hospital. Unfortunately for me, Vanessa had something in mind that would do more damage than the initial injury did.

"As soon as we got home, Vanessa dragged us both downstairs to the basement. She yelled the whole time, screaming about how we almost destroyed the family by running away to Granny's auto repair shop. She angrily reminded us that what happened at home between us and her was a secret – a secret we weren't supposed to tell. She also reminded us that because of what happened when Al was in first grade, it was likely that no one would take us seriously. After all, Teacher and Granny and Sig and even a teacher here and there had called the police or hot-lined our family but nothing ever happened. They always called right when we were beginning to heal. Our house wasn't messy like lots of child abuse cases and our dad was so affectionate and loving that no one believed that in our classic, two-story house horrific abuse was happening. Vanessa truly had built up a story that we were liars and bad and loved to be dirty and that she was the poor step-mother who just couldn't connect with her husband's kids. Anyway, when she was done screaming at us she locked us both in the basement. Al had never been trapped down there like me so he pretty much started wailing as soon as the door was closed. Al's scared of the dark and even in the day the basement is pretty dark since there's only one tiny window. I rolled up my torn-up pant leg, trying to get a good look at my leg in the dim light. I couldn't see much, but what I saw was awful. Blood was everywhere, still pouring out of my leg from both sides. I could see a long, deep, jagged gash but couldn't see anything else about it. I knew that at least some of it went straight through, I just didn't know how much.

"Al and I tried to use the downstairs rinse sink in the laundry room to rinse out my leg and stop the bleeding. We quickly learned, though, that Vanessa must have been planning on leaving us down there 'cause the water to the basement was shut off. My leg got achy and heavy as time went on, the bleeding never getting much better. I was feeling light-headed and sick as my leg was left exposed to the open air. Al found some old towels to wrap around it. He wasn't sure how clean they were but it didn't matter. If we didn't stop the bleeding, I'd die of shock or blood loss before Dada came home on Saturday morning. Once the bleeding was better controlled, we both knew it was a waiting game until Dad came back. I could feel myself getting sick as I got nauseated a lot. My leg felt like there were pins and needles inside and I couldn't get comfortable. I tried throwing up, but I had nothing in my tummy to throw up after a solid two weeks or so barely eating anything. I was dehydrated and that didn't help anything. I wondered if my leg was gonna get infected as I sat down stairs with Al. Al'd curl up next to me for hours, his head resting on my right thigh. He was scared and didn't handle the dark well at all. When he was awake, he was crying. I'd cry too, Vanessa occasionally opening the door to yell at us to stay quiet. Early Saturday morning, almost a full forty-eight hours after I cut my leg and got locked in the basement, Vanessa came to get us. We got a bath and some food, Vanessa wrapping my leg up. I finally got a good look at it and let me tell you – it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen. The part closest to my knee went almost all the way through my calf. I could see muscles and bone and it made me feel more sick than I already felt. As the cut went down my leg, it got shallower. Yellow and white globs of puss oozed out of it and Vanessa didn't bother cleaning it. I could hardly bare weight on my left leg and could barely walk. I had no idea what would happen to me when Dada came home.

"An hour or two after my leg got wrapped, I was lying in bed, trying to get some sleep. Al was lying next to me, snoozing as I stared at the ceiling. My leg hurt so bad I couldn't fall asleep even though I really wanted to. My stomach was upset, I felt like I was running a fever, and my whole body ached. I knew my leg was the reason I was sick. I had a nasty feeling that my leg itself was infected. Nothing oozed nasty yellow gunk unless it was infected. I sighed, holding Lamby under my arm. I missed Dada so much. I sat up, wincing 'cause everything hurt so bad. I never called Granny like she told me to. I kinda wanted to, but wasn't sure I'd be able walk to the phone with my leg the way it was. I could barely walk on it when it happened. It had been a couple days since it happened and it hadn't gotten any better considering it didn't get cleaned or anything. Walking seemed out of the question. Al stirred behind me and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"'Is Daddy home?' Al yawned. I shrugged.

'Don't think so,' I replied quietly. Al sighed and hung his head.

'I want him to come home now,' Al sniffled, our door opening. Al clung to me, whimpering loudly as Dada came into the room. Al let go of me instantly and he ran over to Dad. Dad picked him up and carried him over to my bed. Dada sat down next to me, Al on his lap and said,

'I heard you had an accident. How's your leg, honey?'

'It hurts,' I replied.

'Pretty bad?' Dad asked. I nodded.

'Pretty bad,' I echoed. 'It's oozing yellow stuff, Daddy.'

'Can I look it?' Dad asked.

'Yeah,' I answered. 'I don't feel good. I'm all achy.'

'I think you're running fever,' Dada commented. He lifted Al off his lap and sat him down next to him. Dad gently pulled the covers back and lifted my left leg on to his lap. He started to remove the bandages, gasping as he took them off.

'Oh, God,' Dada breathed. I looked up at him, a worried look on my face. 'Baby, what did you do?'

'I, uh,' I stammered, not sure what to say. Usually Vanessa gave me a bullshit story to tell people but I didn't have one. She didn't tell me what to say so I just said, 'I had an accident.'

'Edward, what happened?' Dada pressed. 'This is bad. We have to get you to the doctor, now.'

'I, um, hopped a fence,' I said. 'It's my fault. I'm stupid and tried to climb a fence. I'm sorry, Dada.'

'Honey, you're not stupid,' Dad assured me. 'We need to go the ER. Your leg is way worse than Vanessa let on.' Dada picked me up and I clung on to his clothes.

'I'm sorry,' I apologized. 'I'm sorry.'

'Ed, baby, it's okay,' Dad whispered. 'It's okay. It was an accident. You didn't do anything wrong.' Al hurried to follow us, Dada carrying me down the stairs.

'Vanessa!' Dad called.

'Yes,' Vanessa replied, poking her head out from the kitchen.

'Care to explain Ed's leg to me?' Dada asked angrily. 'How did it get so bad? Why haven't you taken him to get stitched?! He clearly needs stitches!'

'He's scared of the hospital, Victor,' Vanessa said anxiously. 'He won't let me take him. He screams and cries whenever I try. I cleaned it as best I could –'

'Did he get a tetanus shot!?' Dada demanded. Vanessa scowled at him and crossed her arms.

'How could he if he won't let me take him to a doctor?' Vanessa asked.

'His leg is infected!' Dad yelled, Al hiding behind him. I hid my face as Dada went on, 'He could lose it now! I know he's scared of the hospital but he's old enough to understand why he needs to go! You should have called me to calm him down!'

'I'm sorry, I did what I could,' Vanessa argued. 'He doesn't listen to me! Neither of them do!' Dada stomped to the kitchen, grabbing his keys off the counter.

'I can't stand to be around you right now,' Dad told her angrily.

'Victor, it's not like I didn't try,' Vanessa said, Dad pausing. 'I wanted to take him, I did. He fought me so hard. Besides, it just happened yesterday. I didn't think it would get so bad overnight. Ed's not being 100% truthful about what happened, either.' I looked up at Dada, his jaw clenched.

'I've got to go,' Dad said, leaving. Al hurried behind him and he put me in the car. Dada started driving and he glanced backward at me from the front. 'Is what Vanessa said true, Ed? Are you lying about what happened?' I shook my head frantically.

'No!' I cried, tears welling up in my eyes. 'I'm not a liar! I was playing outside and tried to climb a fence! I almost fell off and hurt my leg! That's really what happened!'

'And did you fight Vanessa about the hospital?' Dada questioned. I licked my lips, wringing my hands together anxiously.

'I, um, well,' I struggled, not sure what to say. I wanted to tell him the truth, but knew the truth may not do any good. It hadn't before. This situation definitely didn't paint Vanessa in a good light, but that never mattered before. I figured it wouldn't matter then, either. 'I, uh, don't really remember, Dada. I'm sorry. I don't remember.'

'Well, even if you did fight her, Vanessa could have gotten you seen regardless,' Dada grumbled. I didn't realize it as a little kid, but Dada and Vanessa were having marriage problems around this time that Dad kept hidden from me and Al. He didn't want to stress us out. Apparently, they were fighting constantly and could never get along. I think the only reason they were still together was 'cause Dada was out of town so much. If he had been home more, he either would have realized the abuse was happening a long time ago or broken up with her. They were actually on the rode to divorce, I think, before we got rescued. Dada almost broke up with her over this, but they "worked it out" through come couples counseling. They never really got passed this, though.

"We got to the hospital and got seen pretty quick. A bunch of people came in to look at my leg. Dada was on the phone with Granny and Vanessa a lot, clearly trying to get a clear story. He had mine, Vanessa's, and Granny's story and none of them really matched up so he really didn't know what really happened or what the time frame was. Lots of doctors and nurses got a good look at my leg and it got cleaned (that hurt so bad, I can't even describe it) and they bandaged it up. It was a waiting game after that. I heard doctors throw around words like 'severe trauma', 'internal damage', and 'potential for sepsis' but had no idea what any of that meant. I just knew it was all bad. Dad was done talking on the phone by then. Al was sitting on one side of me and he was sitting on the other. My head was resting up against his arm, Dada petting my hair. Someone knocked and Dada told them it was okay to come in. It was one of the doctors I saw earlier, the one who ordered the x-ray and some other tests. He shut the door and sighed, Dada standing up.

'Well?' Dada asked anxiously.

'I'm sorry, Mr. Elric,' the doctor began, my heart stalling. 'There is extensive internal damage in his left calf. There is a puncture wound right below the knee that goes all the way through and the laceration on the calf is long, jagged, and deep. Infection is starting to talk its toll on not only the limb, but your son. He's at risk for sepsis or septic shock and the only way to completely prevent those complications is to amputate. The damage is too extensive and it's unlikely he'd ever regain full mobility and use of that leg, even if severe infection is avoided. I'm very sorry, but the best course of action is amputation. You can refuse, of course, but refusing could cost your son his life.'

'You're not serious,' Dada breathed, sitting back down on the bed next to me. I stared at my lap, Dada shaking his head. 'There's really nothing else you can do?'

'Nothing else that would offer the same results as amputation,' the doctor replied. 'I can't imagine how difficult it is to accept but I assure you that amputating the leg is the best thing to do for your son.' I looked up at Dad, his chin quivering.

'Daddy,' I whimpered, 'Am I gonna lose my leg?' Dada nodded and choked. He started crying so I started, too.

'We'll get admission started,' the doctor told us. 'He'll go into surgery either tomorrow or Monday morning. We can get a mental health professional in to see you if you'd like. Just let a nurse know.' Dada nodded and the doctor left, leaving me and him sobbing on the bed, Al trying to comfort us both.

"I heard lots of people tell me I could still live a good life with a missing leg. I was gonna get a prosthetic when I was healed. I was gonna learn to walk on it, but it would be hard since I was going to be losing my knee. Dada and I cried a lot that day. I had nice nurses who helped me get to the bathroom without putting weight on my leg. The following morning, I lost my leg. That Monday, an investigation was done on my family through social services and while they were concerned about family dynamics, they didn't find conclusive evidence of abuse. Like I said, Dada and Vanessa were rocky after this and Granny even thinks that if this hadn't happened, Al's breakdown three years later may not have been enough to get us rescued. All I know is that my desperation to escape and Vanessa's cruelty ultimately cost me my leg, something I'll have to live with the rest of my life."

My watch beeps and I turn it off. I look around the room, Hannah's eyes glued to my left leg. She's pale, almost like she can't believe what I just said. I shake my head and ignore her, Al squeezing my hand. Maybe she didn't know I have a fake leg. That isn't exactly information I go spreading around. I mean, I don't care if people know but I don't start off conversations by saying, "Hey, my name's Ed and my left leg is fake. Nice to meet you!" That would freak people out, I think. That sort of thing makes people uncomfortable. But people always get uncomfortable when they learn I have a fake leg. Rose and Ling learned I had a fake leg right after it happened and Paninya figured it out when I wore shorts after she moved here. But she has prosthetics, too, so it wasn't like she was uncomfortable. But everyone else gets all awkward when they learn. They fidget a little and try not to look at my leg, but always do. They never feel comfortable enough to ask questions. All they do is stare. I guess that's what Hannah and the rest of the group is doing. Nobody besides Al and Dr. Hughes knew that I lost my left leg when I was ten. And now they know. The group begins to talk like most weeks and I can feel Hannah's eyes on my leg the rest of the hour. Group ends and I know Dr. Hughes is gonna want to talk to me and Al before we leave. I stand up and stretch, Al getting up, too. Hannah walks over and I groan softly, Al elbowing me in the ribs. She pauses in front of me, staring at my leg. I look at her and she keeps staring at my left leg.

"Are you okay?" I ask her.

"I had no idea," Hannah says softly.

"I don't go around telling people, you know," I tell her, crossing my arms. "You would have found out by May 'cause I'd start wearing shorts."

"Yes, but, I know the story now," she says quietly. "Your father…. He should have called the police and had her arrested for what she did to you."

"What do you know?!" I question loudly. "You have no idea what he was going through!"

"Does it matter?" Hannah argues loudly, Al inching behind me. "You lost your leg because of her! Your granny and your dad didn't do enough to help! Your granny should have come over to check on you or just taken you to the ER right away! They all failed you but the state thinks it's safe live with your dad?!"

"Shut the fuck up!" I yell, the group looking at me. "You have no idea what you're talking about! Granny tried to help! So did Teacher! But they felt trapped 'cause of shit that happened before! She made it so nobody could help! Haven't you listened to a fucking word I've said since you started coming? You have no fucking idea what you're talking about!"

"Edward," Dr. Hughes says calmly, "Take a few steps back and take a few deep breaths." I glare at Hannah but back away from her. I try to breathe, Al cowering behind me. Dr. Hughes walks over and looks over at Hannah.

"Hannah, this is a touchy subject for Ed and you know that," Dr. Hughes says. "I've told you before that their father truly didn't know what was going on between the boys and his wife. The adults in their lives did everything they could for the boys, but false information and the attitudes of child protective services prevented them from truly being able to help. Exploding and claiming negligence on the adults in their lives isn't a way to promote recovery. If your attitude is going to continue to be a problem, I may have to ask you to stop coming. Understand?" Hannah crosses her arms and nods.

"What about him?" She spits angrily.

"Edward and Alphonse have been a member of this group for almost a year and have not caused any disruptions in that time," Dr. Hughes explained. "In other words, they stay and you would have to go. You harassing Ed for answers about something he's not comfortable with isn't something I'll put up with much longer. Try to take calming breaths and acknowledge Ed's request that members of the group shouldn't talk to him about the abuse after group ends. I want everyone to benefit from this group, including you. Try to be more aware of others next week." Hannah glares at Dr. Hughes and storms back to her seat. She grabs her stuff and stomps out of the room, bumping into me. I glare at her back as she leaves, calmed down. I look over at Dr. Hughes and say,

"Uh, sorry I exploded. She just wouldn't leave it alone. Talking about how I lost my leg sucks and I didn't need her coming up to me and saying what she said. I'm sorry." Dr. Hughes smiles at me.

"I understand," he tells me. "I know how painful the memory of losing your leg is. I also know how painful it is for you to talk about how powerless not only you and Al were, but how powerless the adults trying to help you were, too."

"Poor Granny," Al says softly from behind me. "She wanted to help so bad, but knew if she did, she would stop it or twist it somehow so Granny looked like the bad guy."

"She was good at that," I grumble.

"Ed, you've never mentioned that your dad and step-mom were having marriage problems," Dr. Hughes says. I shrug.

"Never came up," I brush off. "'Sides – it's not like anything really came of it. They went to some marriage counseling thing and 'fixed' it. I mean, Dada didn't like her staying home alone with us anymore after I lost my leg, but they weren't broken up."

"I feel like this is something you need to work through, Ed," Dr. Hughes tells me. "Dr. Bergmann might be able to help."

"Work through?" I question. "Why? 'Cause I resent Dada?"

"Yes," Dr. Hughes replies. "This event of them nearly breaking up, your father getting so close to the truth only to back off, clearly hurt you and hurt your trust with him. I feel like it's important to work through." I nod, though I really don't wanna talk about it. I wanna stop resenting my dad, I do. But, like, just thinking about how close he was to figuring everything out and ending it when I was ten only to pick her over us again hurts too damn much. I don't wanna talk about it with anyone. Not Dr. Hughes, Dr. Bergmann, not even Al. I don't want to talk about it.

"Boys," Dada says, walking inside the room. Al hurries over and gives him a big hug, Dad chuckling weakly at him. "Did you miss me?" I can see Al nod and I grin weakly. Dada and Al walk back over, Al being a little clingy. Not that I blame him. It's only Wednesday but this week has been horrible and hard so far. Al can be as clingy as he wants if you ask me.

"You okay, Ed?" Dad asks. I nod.

"I'm okay," I answer.

"So, group went okay, then?" Dada asks.

"I made it through my story without crying so, yeah," I reply. "Uh, Hannah and I did get into a yelling match afterword, but only 'cause she was talking about stuff she doesn't know anything about. She always wants to talk about my story after group and I told her not to but she doesn't listen." I sniffle and Dad sighs.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes softly. "You sure you're okay?" I scowl but not.

"I said I'm fine," I snap softly. "God, you're just like Hannah sometimes. You never know when to back off." I cross my arms, Al scowling at me at Dad's side.

"Rude," he comments angrily.

"So?" I question.

"Boys," Dada interjects quickly. "Let's not get into it in public. Thanks again, Dr. Hughes. C'mon, boys." Al waves at Dr. Hughes and we all leave. I'm still mad so I don't talk to anyone as we get into the car. Dad pulls out of the parking spot and starts to drive, his eyes sliding over to me.

"We need to talk about your attitude," he tells me matter-of-factly. I glare at him.

"What attitude?" I scoff.

"That one," Dad says. "Edward, you can't talk to me that way."

"I can talk to you however I feel like talking to you!" I snap loudly. "You weren't there when we needed you! You abandoned us! You can't start acting like a father now and expect everything to just be happy and good all the time!"

"Edward," Dad sighs, "I understand how you feel –"

"No, you don't!" I yell, cutting him off. "How the hell could you?! I mean, Jesus! You saw my leg! You saw it! You heard her bullshit story! Hell, you even thought it was bullshit, too! But you fucking stayed with her! You picked her over me and Al! You always did! You have no idea how that feels!" I'm heaving, Al watching worriedly from the backseat. Dada lowers his head and I glare at him.

"Edward," he says softly. "I'm sorry."  
"I don't fucking care!" I scream at him. "I hate you!" Al gasps loudly from the back and

I glare at him. "Don't you start, you daddy's boy. I don't want to hear it."

"Edward," Dad warns.

"What?!" I cry angrily. "He always stands up for you! He shouldn't! Everything is your fault but Al stupidly worships the ground you walk on! It gets on my fucking nerves! He gets on my fucking nerves! He's always tugging on my clothes and whining and crying and sucking his thumb like some big dumb baby! Grow up!" Al's bottom lip trembles and he hangs his head. The car stops roughly at a stop light, Dada scowling at me.

"That's enough," Dad commands. "Edward James, I am extremely disappointed in you. I know that you have complex feelings of resentment and blame toward me. I do. I would, too, if what happened to you happened to me. But that does not give you an excuse to blow up at myself or your brother. You and Alphonse process very differently and that's okay. You're grounded, Ed. I'm not going to put up with that." My brow furrows.

"Seriously?" I question.

"Oh, yes," Dad replies angrily. "You cannot use your feelings and experiences to justify being mean to other people. That's not how it works."

"B-But," I croak, licking my lips as my throat closes up, "I wanna take the permit test tomorrow."

"That'll have to wait," Dad tells me.

"Dada!" I cry.

"Sorry, but you can't get what you want after treating me and Al that way," Dad scolds.

"I didn't mean it," I say frantically. "Well, most of it, anyways! I don't know why I say the things I say when I'm angry! Honest! I don't hate you! I don't! Please let me take the permit test, Dada! Please!"

"Ed, no," Dad says firmly.

"Dad!" I cry. "Please! I can be good! I'm sorry! I'll be good!"

"Ed," Dad sighs. "Honey, I have to punish you. Do you understand? You're still a good boy and we'll take the test next week. But you have to learn there are consequences to blowing up at people. I've been far too lenient, I think." I quiver, tears forming in my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, sniffling loudly. "I'm sorry. I wanna take the test. I wanna be good. I'll be good." Dad exhales loudly and shakes his head.

"Edward," Dad says gently as I start crying. "Honey, it's okay. I still love you. You're still a good boy. Ed, it's okay." I keep crying and Dad sighs again; "I really am soft, aren't I? Geeze, I can never seem to pull the trigger now a days when it comes to punishment. Not that I have to punish you boys very often, but still. Edward, I'll let you off the hook this time because I know you're very upset from having to tell your story today. You aren't grounded and you can take the test tomorrow just like we planned. But the next time you yell like that or bully Alphonse, I won't be soft on you." I wipe my face.

"I'm sorry," I whimper. We're at a stop light so Dada leans over to me. He pulls me into a hug and pets my hair.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you how incredibly proud I am of you," he tells me softly. "You told the story of losing your leg and I know how hard that must have been. I know you're emotional and upset and that's why you blew up." I nod.

"I'm sorry," I say again. "I don't hate you. And Al doesn't annoy me. I don't care if he tugs on my clothes or sucks his thumb or cries. Hell, I cry a lot, too. Sorry, Al." Al glances up at me and wipes his face.

"It's okay," Al whimpers.

"It's really not," I argue weakly, Dada letting go of me so he can drive. "I don't want to be mean to anyone, especially you and Dad."

"You've done very well recently, Ed, at being patient before speaking and I'm very proud," Dad adds, Al nodding along.

"You haven't been mean to me in a long time," Al agrees, grinning weakly. "I'm proud of you, Brother." I blink, a weak smile crawling across my face.

"You're the best, Al," I tell him. "You know that, right?" Al shakes his head.

"No," he replies. I smirk and undo my seatbelt. I crawl into the backseat, Dad yelping in surprise, and sit next to Al. I tickle his sides, Al laughing wildly.

"No?" I echo, Al giggling madly. "You goofball; you're the best person I know."

"E-Ed, st-stop!" Al laughs, Dada chuckling from the front.

"I believe I've asked you to not crawl from the front to the back while the car is in motion," Dad teases. I stick my tongue out at him, Al cackling loudly.

"B-Brother!" Al laughs, practically begging for me to stop. I do, Al giggling lightly.

"Who's the best?" I ask.

"Me, I guess," Al giggles. "I gotta pee now. Thanks." I shove him lightly.

"Just keeping you regular," I tell him.

"Ed, honey, we all know Al has no issues with that," Dad cuts in, Al blushing.

"Hey," he whines.

"You pee every hour, sweetie," Dad says. "That's pretty darn regular."

"Dad," I say.

"Yes?"

"I really am sorry," I tell him.

"I know, Ed, I know," Dada replies. He grins at me from the review mirror and says, "I'm a little relieved I didn't go through with punishing you. I don't think I could have stuck to it, honestly."

"Guess I won the parent lottery," I say, shrugging. Al laughs and we head home, my mind off the fence for the first time all day.


	54. Permit Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tests really are the worst.

Al and me have been sleeping together all week. I know Dad and Dr. Hughes really want us to sleep by ourselves at least once a week, but this week's been really shitty so we haven't. I don't think it's that big a deal, but if we let it slip to Dr. Hughes on Friday he'll think it is a big deal. I know he's just trying to help us recover and feel better, but sleeping with Al makes me feel better. He's pretty much the only person in the universe who can calm me down. He's the only person who makes my anxiety disappear to a faint whisper. He's the only person who really knows me. Dada's good at making me feel better when I'm upset and Winry makes me feel calm, but it's not the same. I mean, how could it be? Al was there through seven years of abuse. He was the little kid trying desperately to keep our family functioning and keep me taken care of. Al knows me like no one else does, like no one else can. Even if me and Winry start dating and I tell her more things, she'll never know me the same way Al does. I just hope she's okay with that.

I groan and roll over. I don't know what time it is. I know it's late but I can't fall asleep. Al's curled up next to me and he gets closer after I've rolled over. His thin arms wrap around my middle and I smile fondly at him. I kiss the top of his head and sigh. I wish I could be sleeping right now. I don't know why I'm not. I guess my mind is stuck on everything that's happened this week. Al's bad touch, getting in a fight with Ryan Vaus at school, family therapy, and talking about the fence at group. I mean, all of those things pretty much happened back to back, too. Monday was the bad touch, Tuesday was the fight and family therapy, and yesterday was the fence. I can't believe all that happened, honestly. It's so much and I guess maybe that's why I can't sleep. I keep thinking about the Porters or about the fence and my brain just won't shut off. I wish it would, though, 'cause I don't wanna be sleepy when I take my permit test tomorrow. I actually, you know, wanna pass it on the first try. I'm still kinda anxious about driving. I think what scares me the most is getting into an accident, especially with Al in the car. He'd get hurt and car accidents are scary. I've heard they are, anyway. I've actually never been in one before. Ever. Not even as a baby or something. Mom and Dad are super safe drivers. I think Mama got rear-ended once but me and Al weren't there and when Dada was a teenager, he got in a pretty serious car accident with Papa. Those are the only two I know about. Maybe there's more, but they never involved me and Al. I don't ever wanna have a car accident, but knowing my luck, I'll probably have one the first day I have my license.

Al stirs next to me, exhaling softly. I close my eyes, trying to go to sleep, when I hear the bedwetting alarm go off. I groan softly and sit up, my pajama pants already wet. I put my leg on and go stop the alarm, wondering how Al's gonna react when I try to get him up. This dumb thing has never worked right for him. It works for me, though. If I'm not having a bad dream when it goes off, Dada and Al can wake me up and I go to the bathroom like I'm supposed to. I've actually noticed that I've been getting up and going pee more at night time than I have ever before. It's actually helped me, I think, but it hasn't helped Al. Maybe he's just not ready. I don't know. The alarm turns off so I gently shake Al.

"Al, get up," I say softly. Al moans and sits up, rubbing his eyes.

"School?" He asks and I chuckle at him. He always asks if it's time for school when I try to wake him up when the alarm goes off and he's not having a bad dream. Always. It's funny.

"No," I chuckle weakly. "You need to go to the bathroom. You were peeing in bed and now you need to finish in the bathroom, okay?" Al nods and swings his legs over the side of the bed. I watch as he gets up and takes my hand. I look at him and ask, "You good?" He nods, yawning loudly.

"I'm good," he replies. I smile and walk him to the bathroom. He goes in and I see Dada peek his head out of his room.

"Success?" He asks eagerly and I give him a thumbs up as I nod enthusiastically.

"He did it!" I cheer softly, a big smile spreading across Dada's face.

"That's great!" Dad cries, hurrying over. He kisses my cheek and says, "I was beginning to think he wasn't ready – which is okay – and that maybe we needed to stop using the alarm for a few months and try again later. Maybe he is ready after all."

"We were in my bed, Dad," I tell him. "It's wet." Dad nods.

"I'll strip it, don't worry," Dad replies. "I just wanna give Al a hug when he's done." The door opens and Al comes out. He looks tired but he smiles when he sees Dad's here.

"Dada," he says sleepily. "Dada, I did it."

"Yes, you did, sweetie," Dada enthuses, engulfing him in a big hug. "I am so, so proud of you! Good job, Al!"

"Do I get candy now?" Al jokes and Dad laughs. When Al was little, we gave him candy when he'd use the potty when he was potty training. I didn't really get it, though, so I'd give him candy all the time which kind of defeated the purpose. Oh well. I think Mom thought it was cute.

"No, honey, but maybe I'll pick up a little treat for you after work," Dad replies, hugging him tight. "Good job, Alphie. I'm so proud." I smile and say,

"C'mon, sleepy head. Let's change your jammies so we can go back to bed." Dada lets go of Al and Al nods. He takes my hand and the three of us walk back to my room together. Dada starts taking the damp sheets off my bed and Al walks over to the dresser. I have to change, too, since Al was practically laying on me when he peed the bed so I go to the dresser, too. Dada leaves the room with the sheets and stuff, saying he'll be back to wish us a goodnight. Al and I quickly change, grab Lamby and Chico from my bare bed, and crawl into Al's. Al instantly hugs my middle and I hug him back.

"Good job," I praise. "You're such a good boy. I'm really proud of you."

"I'm sorry about your bed," Al says softly.

"It's okay," I tell him. "That's how the alarms are supposed to work. You pee a little in bed and then finish in the bathroom. It's supposed to train you to wake up before you go in bed eventually." Al yawns, cuddling up closer to me.

"Mmm, yeah," he says tiredly.

"Okay," I say softly. "Go to sleep, buddy."

"Ed?" Al asks quietly.

"What?" I say.

"Will you make me a sandwich tomorrow?" Al yawns. "With banana in the middle?"

"Sure, Al," I reply, lightly scratching his back so he'll fall asleep. "I'll make you a sandwich." Dada comes back in and I smile as I feel him tuck me and Al in. He kisses my forehead and I say, "Love you, Dada."

"Love you, too, Ed," Dada replies, leaving the room. Al's breathing is steady and deep and I shut my eyes, finally falling asleep.

I've been so excited all day to take the permit test. I actually think it helped me remember more about school than I have almost all year. I really need to start paying attention in school. Eventually, not paying attention will catch up with me and it'll blow. Anyway, I walk to Al's locker after the bell rings and I notice Mei loitering around. My brow furrows and I walk over to her. She waves at me but doesn't say anything. I stare at her, Mei fidgeting as she waits for Al. I mean, I guess she's waiting for Al. I don't know why else she'd be standing here if she wasn't waiting for Al. We stand in silence for a minute before I cross my arms and ask,

"Uh, Mei? What are you doing?" Mei looks over at me.

"I, um," Mei struggles. She licks her lips and sighs, hanging her head. "I don't know. There was something I wanted to ask you and Al something but it's stupid so I'll just go."

"I doubt it's stupid," I comment.

"Well, maybe stupid isn't the right word," Mei replies. "I, uh, well…. That thing with Ryan on Tuesday and what happened at Ling's sleepover…. I've been worried about you two and yesterday I remembered that Al said he understood Picard." My blood runs cold and Mei shakes her head. "Picard was abused by his owner. If Al understands Picard, that means… that means he was, too, right?" I blink, sweating heavily as Mei stares up at me. "Edward, please tell me it's not true. Please tell me I'm over thinking."

"I wish I could," I tell her softly. Mei's eyes widen and I sigh. "Al and I were abused by our step-mom for seven years, Mei. You figured it out. I'm sorry. Don't tell anyone, okay? We're not ready for a lot of people to know." Mei's chin quivers and she hugs me tight.

"I'm so sorry," she whimpers. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, but the idea that someone could be hurting you or Al…. It's over, right? She doesn't hurt you anymore?"

"No, don't worry," I assure her gently, my body shaking. "She's in jail now. We're both safe."

"God, Ed, I'm so sorry," Mei cries miserably. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay," I assure her, my voice shaking. "Me and Al were gonna tell you when we were ready to, promise. We're not trying to hide things from you guys. It's just…. It's so hard to talk about and we don't want to upset you guys by telling you what happened. It's just not fun to think about or talk about. We don't want to put you through that."

"So, uh, when did it end?" Mei asks, pulling away from me. I cross my arms and sigh.

"Two years ago," I say, hanging my head. "You, me, and Al didn't know each other very well then. God, actually, it's almost been three years. It'll be three years in May. Jesus. I can't believe that."

"Who else knows?" Mei asks me nervously. I sniff loudly and I can feel my throat tightening up.

"Ms. Hawkeye, my guidance counselor, Winry, and Ling," I reply. "Uh, obviously my dad knows and so does Winry's grandma. And you, now."

"I really am sorry," she apologizes. "I really didn't mean to pry but I was worried. I heard that Al has nightmares and that thing with Ryan and the whole thing with Picard made me really worried about you guys." I smile weakly at her, wiping my eyes quickly so she can't see how close to crying I am.

"It's really okay," I tell her. "There's nothing wrong with worrying and you didn't pry. You kinda stumbled upon it on your own. I just kinda confirmed it."

"Hi, Brother," Al chirps happily behind me. I turn around and he smiles broadly when he sees Mei and he says, "Hey!" Mei's chin quivers and she hurries over to him. She hugs him tightly, Al stunned at first. Soon, though, he returns the hug, his whole body shaking like normal.

"What's the matter?" Al asks gently, rubbing Mei's back. I inch over to him and whisper in his ear,

"She knows about the abuse, Al." I hear Al gasp and I back up a little. Al's tremor gets worse, Mei pulling away a little. She smiles sadly at him, Al whimpering softly.

"It's okay," she says, taking his hand. "I won't tell anybody, I promise. I'm just sorry that someone who was supposed to love you hurt you instead."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Al says, his voice shaking. Mei pulls away, a scowl on her face.

"Don't do that," she tells him, wiping her face. "You don't have to tell anyone ever if you don't want to."

"But we're friends," Al replies softly, fidgeting with his jacket. "Friends aren't supposed to keep secrets." Mei raises an eyebrow at him.

"Who the heck told you that?" She questions, Al glancing over at her.

"Huh?" He asks.

"That's not true," Mei says seriously. "As long as the secret doesn't hurt one of your friends, you can keep as many secrets as you want. Don't confuse lying with keeping secrets."

"I, uh, haven't had that many friends," Al admits quietly, wiping tears off his face. "Most people either make fun of me or ignore me. I guess I don't really know a lot about having friends. Kinda pathetic, huh?" I look down at the floor. I really hate that hasn't had a lot of friends since pre-school especially since kids bully him or ignore him for shit he really can't control. It's really not fair. I shake my head, nobody saying thing and I look over at Al.

"Didn't Hannah tell you that friends don't keep secrets from each other?" I question, my arms crossed. Al nods and I say, "Well, Mei's right. Hannah's full of shit, Al. Don't lie or hurt other people but keep secrets all you want." Al nods and looks over at Mei.

"I really was gonna tell you someday," Al tells her. "We're gonna tell everyone, we're just not ready yet. We like having friends who don't know." Mei's brow furrows.

"How come?" She asks curiously.

"It's hard to explain," I reply. "Basically, telling people usually changes the way those people talk to you or treat you. People tend to feel sorry for us or feel like they can't say certain things around us and it blows. We know they're just trying to be sensitive but we just want to be treated like everybody else."

"Oh," Mei says. "I'll try not to do that. I don't know what she did so I wouldn't even know what topics to avoid." Mei fidgets and looks up at Al. "You're still gonna volunteer with me, right?" Al grins weakly and nods.

"Yeah, of course," he replies, Winry walking over. "I couldn't this week but I'll go next week, I promise." Mei grins brightly and I wave at Winry.

"Hey, guys," she greets, her brow furrowing when she sees Mei. "Uh, hey, Mei. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to Al about…." Mei trails off, biting her bottom lip. "Um, I gotta meet Ling."

"Mei found out about the abuse," I say bluntly, Winry's eyes widening.

"What? How?" Winry questions.

"She's smart so she figured it out on her own," I explain. "She got the conformation from me but like Ling she figured it out by herself." Winry sighs.

"Well, at least she didn't get the idea from Ryan Vaus," Winry grumbles. Winry looks over at Al who is fighting tears and she asks, "You good, Alphie?" Al nods and rubs his eyes.

"I'm good," he replies.

"So, you guys have plans after school?" Winry asks, starting to walk toward the main doors. We follow her and I say,

"I'm taking the permit test."

"That's awesome!" Mei says enthusiastically.

"Yeah," Winry agrees. "The test's not hard, I promise. I've heard the license test is, though." Mei rolls her eyes.

"That's what Ling says but I think he's just a bad driver," Mei says. "As long as you're a good driver the test shouldn't be hard. That's what Lan Fan says, anyway."

"Wait, Lan Fan as her license?" I ask. "I know her birthday was last month but she didn't mention getting her license." Mei nods.

"Yeah, she got it," Mei replies. "Got almost 100%, too. She's a really good driver." We get to the front door and Mei looks down at the floor.

"What's the matter?" Al asks worriedly.

"I'm sorry," Mei says softly.

"It's really okay," Al tells her. "We were going to tell you eventually."

"Yeah, it's not that big a deal," I say dismissively. "I mean, it's not something we want everyone to know or anything, but we also know you're not gonna go spreading it around. Besides, people are gonna find out anyways. They'll hear it from Ryan Vaus or one of his stupid friends or they'll overhear one of us telling somebody we trust. It's something we've known is gonna happen for a while but we're just trying to prevent it from spreading everywhere. We want you to know, it's okay."

"You were really going to tell me?" Mei asks.

"Heck yeah," I say.

"We're friends," Al adds. "It might be okay to keep secrets, but friends do tell each other stuff like that." Mei grins and I glance out the window. I can see Dada's car so I say,

"We gotta go." Mei nods and gives Al a quick hug.

"See you later," she says. Al nods and smiles weakly.

"Okay, yeah," he replies. He pulls away and I take his hand.

"See ya, Winry," I say.

"Bye," she says. "Good luck on your test!" I grin cheekily at her and wave, walking out of the building. Al's silent as we walk toward the car and I know we're gonna have to talk about what just happened. Another person figured out that we were abused all on their own. More or less, anyways. She had a suspicion and asked me about it. But she was smart enough to put all the pieces together and come up with the suspicion in the first place. Al's holding it together, but I don't know for how much longer. To be completely honest, I'm surprised I'm taking it as well as I am. When Ling told me he knew, I cried like a baby. I mean, I was recovering from a bad dream, sitting on the edge of his bathtub in his house, and covered in piss. Maybe being in the hallway is the reason I haven't completely broken down yet. I don't know. We get into the car and Dad smiles at us.

"Good day at school, boys?" He asks, driving away. I shrug.

"I guess," I reply. "Uh, Dada?"

"What, honey?" Dada asks with a chuckle. "Getting nervous about the permit test? You'll do fine, you know." I shake my head.

"No, that's not…. Mei knows about the abuse." Dada falls silent, Al looking at his lap in the backseat.

"Oh," Dada sighs. "How did… how did she find out?"  


"On her own," I answer. "She kinda inferred it after putting some stuff together and asked me about it today after school. I confirmed it 'cause I wasn't gonna lie to her."

"Well, I suppose that's the second-best way for your friends to learn you were abused," Dad says softly. "I'd much rather you tell them, but if that doesn't happen, them being intuitive and figuring it out on their own is much better than learning about it from someone else or a rumor." I nod.

"Yeah," I agree quietly.

"Dad, she apologized a bunch," Al says.

"Well, sweetie, she's probably overwhelmed and feels bad that it happened to you at all," Dad explains.

"It reminded me of when I told Win," Al says, a note of panic in his voice. "She cried and apologized over and over again. That's what you did, too!"

"Alphonse, it's okay," Dada comforts. "It's okay. Apologizing is sometimes the only thing people can think of to say when someone tells them something awful like that."

"It's my fault," Al whimpers, wrapping his arms around his middle. It's almost as if he never heard Dada say anything. "It's all my fault."

"Al, none of it is your fault," Dad assures him gently.

"Yes, it is!" Al cries, starting to break down. "I killed Mom, I peed the bed and got her mad at me, I told my first grade teacher like an idiot, and I made you and Winry cry! I broke the family apart every time it fell apart! It's all my fault!"

"Alphonse, baby," Dada coos. I look back at Al. He's all doubled over, his face all crumpled up as he cries like a baby. I glance back over at Dada as he says, "Honey, you did not kill Mom. It's bad luck you happened to be born when they discovered she had cancer. That is not your fault. You were four when the abuse started, Al. You had an accident and that's not your fault. You've always had a problem with wetting the bed and it's not your fault. You don't do it on purpose. She was the one who did something wrong, honey, not you. God, you were both so little then. She should have realized that little kids make mistakes and cry and have accidents but she didn't. That's her fault, not yours. Telling your first grade teacher was a good thing, Al. You're supposed to tell the truth and you did. It's my fault and the fault of all the other adults in your life for not believing you. As for making me and Winry cry, Al, telling Winry the truth when you were eleven pretty much saved you and Brother. If you hadn't…. I don't even want to think about it."

"Dad, weren't you getting close to breaking up with her?" Dada sighs, Al crying in the back seat.

"Yes," Dad answers. "I, uh…. We weren't getting along. We hadn't really got along since before you lost your leg, Ed. I just…. I didn't have the guts to break it off, I suppose. I wanted to make it work between us but I was beginning to think I couldn't. I began noticing all the things she said about you boys or her rude comments and it didn't sit right with me. I never got a chance to break things off, though, because Al so bravely told Winry the truth." Dada smiles warmly at Al, Al sniffling and wiping his face.

"It was pretty brave," I agree lightly. "And Al? None of it was your fault. None of it, okay?"

"But…." Al protests weakly, trailing off.

"Al, honey, she agreed to marry me knowing you wet the bed," Dada begins. "You were four-years-old and even if you didn't have an issue with it, four-year-olds have accidents. It happens. It's her fault that she couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of you. It's not your fault, Al."

"I don't blame you," I tell Al softly. "I never have. I know how hard that can be to believe, but I really don't blame you." Al sniffles and finally dries his face.

"All better?" Dada asks. Al shrugs.

"Not really," Al replies, "But I feel better than I did a few minutes ago. That's got to count for something, right?"

"Al, I'm sure I've told you this before, but I'll say it again," Dad begins. "I am so incredibly proud that you told Winry. I'm sure it was scary for you but you told the truth anyway. I'm so proud of you." Al blinks, a goofy smile spreading across his face. I smile at him and Al says,

"Well, you're gonna be proud of Brother soon 'cause he's gonna pass his test," Al says.

"I can be proud of both of you at the same time, you know," Dada informs him. "But yes, I'll be very proud of Ed when he passes his test."

"Are we close?" I ask, looking out the window.

"We're nearly there," Dada replies. "Getting anxious?"

"Uh, a little," I answer. "I mean, I read the book so I know the information but tests make me anxious sometimes."

"You'll do fine," Dad assures me. "You studied hard and you'll pass. You'll make a fine driver, Ed." I grin weakly, Al leaning forward in the back seat.

"Yeah!" Al agrees eagerly. "You'll be the best driver ever! Passing will be easy!"

"If you guys say so," I chuckle nervously. We drive for a little bit longer, Dada pulling into a parking lot. He stops the car and I look over to the strip mall. There's shops and stuff but my eyes are drawn to the sign that says; "License Office". We all get out of the car and Al hurries in front of us.

"That's the building!" He cries eagerly. "C'mon, Brother! Hurry up!"

"Alphonse, it's not like the office is going to close in the next five seconds, you silly boy," Dada teases lightly. "Slow down before you trip."

"I'm not Ed," Al snaps cheerfully. "Brother trips way more than I do."

"Shut up, you little smart mouth," I call, hurrying after him. Al smirks and runs across the parking lot and I chase him. He stops at the door to the license office and has his hands on his hips as I make it over and we wait for Dad. Dad makes it over and shakes his head.

"Al, what's the rule about parking lots?" Dada asks lightly.

"Well, no running and look both ways," Al answers instantly. "I didn't do that but it's okay."

"Not really, but I'm giving grace today," Dada laughs. "Next time, let's follow basic safety rules, okay?" Al nods.

"I'm just excited," Al says eagerly. "Brother's gonna drive home!" Al hurries inside the building before me or Dad can correct him. Dad chuckles at him and shakes his head, following Al inside.

We get put in a que and wait for a computer to open up. The test is all on computers now. Dad told me that back in the day, it was a written exam. I think most tests like those were once paper and pencil but now they're all on computers or iPads or something like that. Hell, even boards for nursing licensure and the MCAT are on computers now. I guess it just makes it easier to grade or something. I don't know. With the permit test, I know you get your results back instantly which is nice. I'll know if I passed or not right away. I'm kinda anxious, but I did study really hard for it. I took my time reading the book and Al even quizzed me a bunch to get me ready. I'm pretty sure I'll pass, but sometimes tests make me nervous. Plus, Al and Dad can't go with me to take the test so that's kinda scary. God, I really can be such a baby sometimes. I mean, I have separation anxiety just like a baby does. While I don't cry very often when I am separated from Dada or Al, I am anxious at the mere thought of not being near them. I used to cling to Dad and cry, though, and sometimes Al does. I wish I'd just we'd freaking grow up already.

After waiting for a few minutes, a police officer comes to get me. She explains that there's 30 questions on the test and I can only move forward – I can't go back and change my answer on a question I've already answered. She also explains that I can miss up to five questions and still pass. If I miss more than that, I fail. I nod and she brings me to a room full of computers. I sit down and she tells me I can't leave until I complete the test. Once I'm done, I can leave the room and bring the paper that said if I passed or not to the lady at the desk. If I pass, I'll get my picture taken and they'll give me a paper permit while I wait for my real one to show up in the mail a couple weeks later. The officer leaves and I start the test. The computer's a touch screen so all I have to do is touch the answer and then touch the next button. My hands are shaking and I stare at the screen. I shut my eyes, reciting my list in my head, and take a deep breath. I've got this. I've read the book. I open my eyes and start, doing my breathing exercises so I don't freak out. I take my time with each question and do my best not to second guess myself. I work my way through the questions, keeping my breathing under control. I ignore the urge to look at my watch so I don't get super anxious and just do my best to focus on my test. I get through the test, swallow anxiously, and hit submit. I shut my eyes in preparation and quickly open them to see my grade. I exhale as a huge smile spreads across my face – I passed!

"28," I whisper to myself, getting up. The printer next to the computer prints out the proof I passed and I walk to the door. I open it, Dada and Al sitting near the doors with some other people. Dad looks over at me and I give him a thumbs up. He smiles broadly and I walk to the permit and licenses section of the desk. The lady behind the desk looks up at me and smiles. I hand her the paper and say,

"I passed."

"Congrats," she tells me. "Let's just make sure all your information is correct and then we'll take your picture, okay?" I nod and the lady types loudly on her keyboard. "Your name is Edward James von Hohenheim-Elric, right?"

"Yeah, but that's not all gonna go on my permit, is it?" I ask.

"No," she laughs. "I'm assuming your family just uses the Elric last name, right?" I nod.

"Yup," I confirm.

"If the police scan your permit for any reason, your full name will pop up in their computer," the lady explained to me. "That's why I needed to confirm your full name. Your address is 1914 Central Court?" I nod and she asks, "Do you have proof of residency?" I looked over at Dada nervously and he hurried over.

"What do you need, Ed?" He asks.

"Proof of residency," I tell him.

"Oh, I brought something," Dada says, digging around in his pocket.

"I assume you're dad?" She asks.

"That's right," Dada replies proudly. He hands her the mail and she nods. She hands it back to Dad and types on her keyboard.

"Let's see…. Light brown eyes, blond hair…. How tall are you and how much do you weigh?" She asks.

"I'm, uh…." I trail off, too embarrassed to tell her how short I am.

"He's four eleven," Dad cuts in. "He weighs about one hundred pounds, give or take."

"Tiny little guy," she comments and I glare at her when she glances back at her screen. I know I'm tiny. She doesn't hafta say it. "And the date of birth is February third, 2000?"

"Yeah," I answer, crossing my arms and glaring at Dada. He chuckles at me and ruffles my hair.

"Okay, that's all I need," the lady announces. "Stand to the right of me on the piece of tape." I nod and make my way over to the tape. "Look at the camera and stay still, okay? You can smile if you want." I nod and smile. I probably look like an idiot but honestly, I don't care. For me, getting my permit is a step in the direction I wanna go. I wanna start growing up and driving's a good first step. I'm happy, so I'm gonna smile. I don't care if I look dumb. The camera flashes and the lady says,

"Okay, come back over." I walk back to the desk, the printer sounding like it's gonna explode. "So, you're going to get a paper version of your permit. If you get pulled over while driving or need to show id before your official permit comes in the mail, this is a valid id. When the real one comes in the mail, you should throw the paper version away and just use the real one. You'll need 60 hours of day time driving and 30 hours of night driving before coming back to take the license test. Will you be taking driver's education? That's required by law in Illinois before you can take the license test." I nod.

"Yeah, I'll be taking it fall semester next year," I tell her. "Can I take the license test if I prove I'll be in the class?" The lady shakes her head.

"No," she tells me. "What I would suggest is finding an independent driver's education course. There are several available for various prices and that would eliminate the need to take the class at school. The course doesn't even take that long, but you need to have your permit for at least six months before taking the license test."

"So, I could take the class over the summer or something so I could get my license in the fall?" I ask.

"You got it," she affirms, handing me the piece of paper. "The permit's seven dollars, dad." Dada nods and hands her his card.

"I've actually been looking at driver's education classes provided outside the school," he informs me. "I wasn't sure when you were going to be taking the permit test. Have you signed up for next year's classes yet?" I shake my head.

"No, but now I gotta find something to fill the driver's ed. hole with," I reply. I cross my arms and say, "Guess I could always take a study hall or something." I look at the paper permit and look at my picture. God, I look like such an idiot. I've got the biggest smile on my face, basically all my teeth visible. I look like a freaking moron. Oh well. I was happy so I smiled. Dad gets his card back and says,

"Let's get going, Ed." I nod, Dada's eyes shifting to the permit. He smiles brightly and says, "What a nice picture. Very cute." I groan.

"Ugh, Dad," I complain, Al standing up as we get close. "Stop it."

"Show Al, honey," Dada insists, my face turning read.

"God, fine," I mumble, handing the paper to Al.

"You're so happy!" Al comments brightly. "I knew you'd pass!" Al hands the paper back to me and I grin.

"I am happy," I tell him, following Dad out of the building. "I'm still anxious about the actual driving part, but if I can pass the test, I'm sure the driving part won't be so bad."

"That's the spirit, Ed," Dad says.

"So," I ask, elongating the word a bit, "When can I drive?" Dad chuckles and shakes his head as he unlocks the car.

"Soon, but not tonight," Dad tells me. "We have Al with us so it's not a good idea. We'll go out driving soon." We get in the car, Al groaning as he slides into the backseat.

"C'mon, Dada," Al complains. "Can't Brother drive home? Please?"

"Absolutely not," Dad laughs. "Ed's never been behind the wheel of a car before. Do you really want him driving home?" Al nods eagerly.

"Yeah!" He cries, smiling. "How else is Ed going to learn?"

"By driving in a parking lot with me and then working up to real roads," Dad explains. "I'm sorry, Alphie, but you can't be in the car with Ed behind the wheel until he gets his license." Al crosses his arms and looks out the window.

"That sucks," he mutters and I shake my head.

"Don't worry, Al," I say. "As soon as I get my license, I'll drive you wherever you want to go, okay?" Al nods.

"Okay," he chirps, appeased. I smile at him and glance over at Dada. Dad grins at me and I look back at Al. Al's holding a hand to his cheek and my brow furrows.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"My tooth hurts," Al says.

"Did it just start?" Dada asks.

"Yeah," Al replies. "It hurts bad, Dad."

"Well, you're due to go to the dentist soon," Dada says, Al's face going pale. "I know you don't like the dentist, honey, but you need to go, especially if your tooth hurts. I doubt I can get you in tomorrow but I can probably get you in on Monday."

"What do we do until then?" I ask anxiously.

"Lots of Tylenol," Dad replies. "And soft food."

"Do I gotta go to the dentist, too?" I ask.

"I'd imagine so," Dada tells me. "You both need to go. You both also need your eyes checked."

"Oh, that reminds me," Al says suddenly. "Dada, I can't see good."

"What do you mean, Al?" Dad prompts. "That's not very specific. How long have you had trouble seeing? Please tell me it's recent." Al nods.

"It started last week but with everything that's been going on and since I haven't been in school much this week, I thought maybe I was just tired the first time it happened," Al explained, "But things that are far away are kinda blurry. I couldn't read the board in Mr. Murdoch's class today. I sit in the back in that class."

"Sounds like you're near-sighted," Dada comments. "You might be getting glasses very soon."

"I don't really want glasses," Al says. "Can I get contacts instead?"

"Maybe after you've had your glasses for a while," Dad replies. "I don't think it's a good idea to get contacts right off the bat, though."

"Dang it," Al grumbles. I grin cheekily at him.

"Cheer up, kiddo," I comment lightly. "You'll look good with glasses, promise." Al smiles brightly.

"Thanks," Al says, my head filled with images of Al with glasses the rest of the way home.


	55. Vertigo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've actually had vertigo once in my life and let me tell you - it sucked.

True to his word, Dada called both the dentist and the eye doctor yesterday morning and set up appointments for both me and Al. He didn't want to make Al miss volunteering with Mei like last week but didn't want us to miss therapy or group, so we're going to the dentist during school on Monday and the eye doctor right after that. We'll only be at school for, like, four hours on Monday. Dad's gonna pick us up right before lunch time and we should be all done with those appointments in time for therapy. Paranoid as always, though, Dada told the secretary at Dr. Hughes' office yesterday afternoon that we may be an hour late for the appointment if our other appointments take more time than we're expecting. Therapy was good yesterday. We didn't talk about much. We've been doing lots of art therapy lately and I think it's helping. Al drew a sad picture yesterday, though. He drew this picture of what happened between him and David. At first, he tried to hide it but Dr. Hughes eventually got Al to show him the picture. That prompted Al to talk a little about the molestation before breaking down into tears. Al didn't really talk much the rest of the day after that. I don't blame him, honestly.

Dad has a date with Lucy all the way in Champaign-Urbana tonight. They're going to some nerdy exhibition thing. I don't know what it's about or anything. Before that, though, we're going to get me a phone. Now that I'm driving, it's time for me to get a phone. Yesterday afternoon, Dada dropped Al off with Granny after therapy and took me to a parking lot. It was supposed to be my first time driving. I sat in the driver's seat but was too anxious to do anything. I wound up having a panic attack and didn't even drive at all. Dada assured me that it would get easier the more we try. I'm not so sure, though. I'm scared that I'm never gonna learn since I couldn't even put the car in gear yesterday. After that, we went back to Granny's house and had dinner with her and Winry. Al asked how my first lesson with but I was too embarrassed to tell him how it went in front of Winry and Granny. I waited until late last night to tell him. He still seems pretty optimistic that I'll learn to drive. At least some people think I'll be driving eventually 'cause I sure as hell don't.

My family is eating lunch and when we're done, we're going to the AT&T store to get my phone. I'm getting the iPhone 6 Plus. Me and Al call it the Super Six, though, 'cause it's so ridiculously big. I want a big phone, though, so I can draw on it and watch Netflix. Dr. Hughes told me that there are lots of drawing apps and I have some on my iPad already. I figured a larger screen would be easier to use those apps with. Dr. Hughes suggested those apps for when I need to cut or want to color but don't have paper or a coloring book. I don't use them a lot on my iPad since when I'm at home I can just get a pen or a coloring book. I think I'll use the apps a lot more on my phone, though. There are lots of times when I'm at school and I wanna cut but don't have my iPad so I can't use the apps and I don't wanna draw all over my arm while at school. Al's been really quiet since yesterday. I was actually kinda scared that after his breakdown yesterday he'd be too depressed to get up out of bed like after the abuse ended. Al's a trooper, though, and he did get up around nine this morning. His plate of food is pretty much untouched, though. Dad has tried to get him to eat but he hasn't been successful. I can tell Al's anxiety is on overdrive, probably 'cause he's thinking about his bad touch and it's stressing him out. He'll probably suck his thumb later, even though he's trying hard not to. Hell, he might just sit in the car and freak out while Dada and I are in the store. I hope not.

Me and Dada finish eating and try a couple more times to get Al to eat before giving up. We ask if he'd rather just go to Granny's now since we'll be hanging out with her and Winry tonight while Dada's with Lucy. Al shakes his head. He speaks for the first time all morning, I think, and says he wants to go. Dad asks if he's absolutely sure and Al nods. Dada and I exchange looks but Dad smiles at him. Dad asks Al if he needs to pee and Al shakes his head. Dad asks if Al wants to try and Al shakes his head again. He's desperately holding on to Chico and I sigh. This is the worst his anxiety has been in a long time. When his anxiety gets like this, it overpowers his brain. He can't talk, can't eat, can't really do anything. I'm really surprised he's up and walking around, actually. I mean, I'm glad he is 'cause I'd rather him be up and walking then lying in bed all day. Anyways, even if Al has to pee, he's not gonna go right now. He's too anxious right now to separate himself from us. Besides, when Al gets like this but has something he needs or wants to do, his brain gets sorta stuck on whatever it is he's doing. We'll probably have to make an emergency stop for Al on the way home. We go to the garage and get in the car. Since Al is so insanely anxious right now, I decide to sit in the back with him. I'm expecting him to hold my hand but he doesn't. He lays his head on my shoulder, curling his legs up underneath him. He's shaking so hard and there's hardly anything I can do for him. Asking him about it has helped before, but it's also sent him into a panic attack before. I bet Dada will ask at some point.

The AT&T store is, like, thirty minutes away. There's a Sprint store in the square, but Dada switched from Sprint to AT&T when he decided to get a smart phone back in, like, 2011 or something. He got the Samsung Galaxy and never looked back. I like his phone but I've always liked the iPhone better. Winry has the iPhone and since I've had an iPad for a long time, the iPhone is the way to go. Dad doesn't honestly care about stuff like that. He keeps using Galaxy phones 'cause he knows how. I bet he could switch to an iPhone whenever he wants since he does have an iPad, but he claims it's just easier to keep upgrading the phone he already has. He's old. I don't know. The ride to the store is super quiet. Dad has music softly playing in the back ground, though it's so quiet I can't tell what it is. He and I talk a little bit, but Al doesn't. His eyes are shut, his knuckles turning white since he has a death grip on Chico. I kinda want to tell him to just suck his thumb since he's so anxious but I also know I shouldn't. He's trying really hard to get better and encouraging regressive or bad behaviors isn't something I should do. I want him to get better and I don't want him to feel guilty later. So instead I just pet his hair and whisper softly to him so he'll feel better. We get to the store, Al sitting up straight for the first time since leaving the house. Dada parks and looks backward at us. I can tell he's worried about how this is going to go. When Al's anxious like this, he can't go out in public. He just can't. He has panic attacks and then we gotta go home. Dada doesn't like to see Al that way and neither do I. But I kinda think Al'd have a panic attack if we left him alone, too. So I don't know what the hell we're gonna do.

"Well," Dada says gently, "Let's go get Brother's phone. In and out, okay?" We both nod.

"Don't let them talk you into a phone for Al," I tease lightly, getting out of the car.

"I won't," Dad chuckles. Al stays put for a second or two before getting out of the car. He hurries over to me and takes my hand. He's got Chico in the other as a way to prevent himself from sucking his thumb. I rub the back of his hand with my thumb and guide him into the store. He freezes up instantly and I gently tug on his arm.

"C'mon, Alphie," I say softly, Dada already at the iPhone display. He wasn't kidding; in and out. "It's okay, buddy. I'm right here." Al doesn't do anything, his body shaking. He whimpers softly and shakes his head. I look over at Dad and he looks at me. I tell him with my eyes that I'm gonna try to take Al back outside to avoid a scene. That's the last thing Al wants. It's bad enough he has the panic attacks to begin with. Having one in public is the worst 'cause everyone stares at you the whole time. I pull on Al's arm, scared that it might be too late. He won't budge. He's just standing in the doorway. We need to move so we aren't in the way.

"Al," I try again, "Al, come on. Let's go outside." Al's heaving, bending over as his whole body shakes. I hear someone groan behind us and my heart starts beating frantically. We're in the way. We gotta move.

"Could you brats get out of the way?" A woman questions rudely from behind me. I look over at her and swallow nervously.

"Uh, sorry," I apologize in a whisper, getting out of the woman's way. She huffs and storms passed us, intentionally bumping into Al. I flinch as Al freezes up and screams loudly. The woman stops dead in her tracks and turns back toward us. I get in front of Al who's slowly descending into a full blow panic attack. He's wheezing loudly, sobbing and fearfully begging for someone to stay away from him.

"You boys got a problem?" She questions harshly, employees walking over to us.

"Um, you bumped Al," I squeak, Dada hurrying over.

"What's going on?" He asks as an employee stands in front of me. The woman quickly turns to the employee, a scowl on her face.

"These two are a disruption," she snaps. "They need to go."

"Hold on," Dad interjects quickly. "My youngest has a panic disorder. Something set him off. It's not his fault." The employee looks over at me and I swallow nervously.

"She bumped into Al," I explain, the woman glaring at me. "He's scared." Dad nods and looks over at the lady.

"Why did you run into my son?" Dada asks, Al panicking behind me.

"The dumb kid was just standing in the way," the woman defends bitterly.

"Let's not cause a scene," the employee cuts in, the woman glaring at him.

"Dada, Al's not doing so good," I say anxiously. I turn around to face him, Al pale and shaky. I see some wet spots on the hard wood floor and frantically turn to Dada. "We have a major problem!"

"Ed, honey, see if you can calm him down enough to get him outside," Dad tells me. "Your phone's almost paid for." He tosses the car keys at me and I catch them. Al's barely breathing as he stands on his shaking legs.

"Al," I say gently, "Al, breathe. You can do it."

"Wh-Where are we?" Al wheezes, tears running down his face.

"We're at the AT&T store, remember?" I tell him softly. "You're safe, it's okay. Let's go out to the car."

"Ed, I'm almost finished paying," Dad tells me from the counter. I nod, the woman who ran into Al crossing her arms and glaring at me.

"These two need to go," she insists, the employee walking over to me. He looks at the floor and gaps, looking over at me.

"Is that…." The employee says, trailing off.

"Uh, yeah," I tell him softly. "Al has a panic disorder. When he gets like this, he can't always control his muscles and sometimes he throws up, too. I'm trying to get him to leave, I promise."

"Maybe we should call an ambulance," the employee says nervously. My brow furrows as Al forcefully grabs my arm.

"What's the matter?" I ask him.

"Brother, th-the room's spinning," Al gaps, struggling to stay standing. He starts to fall and I catch him before he can hit the floor. He's all sweaty and his breathing is panicked and labored.

"Woah!" I cry, lowering Al to the floor. "Hey, what's wrong?" Al's pale, grimacing.

"M-My head h-hurts," he whimpers. "I d-don't feel good. The world's tilting."

"Dad!" I cry. "New problem!" Dad's at the counter and his eyes widen.

"What happened?" Dada cries.

"I'm calling an ambulance," the employee decides, obviously freaked out. Dad hurries over and squats down by Al.

"What's wrong?" Dad asks frantically. I shake my head.

"I-I don't know," I say, panicked. "He, uh, says the world's tilting. He doesn't feel good."

"Al, are you going to throw up?" Dad asks urgently.

"Y-Yeah," Al gurgles. Without saying anything Dada grabs Al and rolls him over on his side. Al forcefully throws up, what little food he had in his stomach splattering all over the floor.

"Dada, what's going on?" I ask anxiously. "Is he having a seizure?" Dada shakes his head.

"No, honey," Dad replies, rubbing Al's back as he keeps him on his side. "It think this is an episode of vertigo."

"Al's never had that before," I comment, the whole store coming to look.

"I know," Dada says. "Does your head hurt, Al?" Al nods, spitting more vomit on to the floor.

"I'm scared, Daddy," Al whimpers.

"I know, baby," Dada comforts. "I'm right here. It's okay." I hear sirens and look over to the window. I see the ambulance pull up, the lights on and everything.

"Dad, the ambulance is here," I say anxiously and probably too loud. Two paramedics come in, pushing a stretcher with them. They get over to Al and one of them asks,

"Is he seizing?" There's a boy and a girl paramedic. The guy's big and has really dark skin. The girl is tiny with blonde hair. Dad shakes his head.

"No," he answers, "I think it's vertigo."

"Is there a history of vertigo?" The man asks.

"No, he's never had vertigo," Dad replies.

"What about migraine headaches?" The man asks.

"Al has migraines occasionally, but they've never been this severe," Dada tells them.

"Well, let's get him up on the stretcher," the woman says. "Dad, you might have to help. Your son's going to be pretty weak and is going to have a hard time standing." Dada nods and the man asks,

"What's his name and date of birth?"

"Alphonse Elric," Dad answers as the pair of paramedics prepare to lift Al, "He goes by Al. His birth date is May 19, 2001."

"Do you know his height and weight?" The woman asks.

"He's about 4'10'' and weighs almost 90 pounds," Dada answers. They both give him a strange look and Dad quickly says, "We've been trying to get him to gain weight but he can't seem to. I've taken him to the doctor many times for this issue." I look over at the paramedics, recognizing that look in their eyes. They have the same look Teacher and Granny always had around her. They think abuse is going on. I swallow hard and frantically cut in,

"Our step-mom used to abuse us." Everyone, including Al, stares at me and I go on, "It's over now. We look like abused kids because we were. My dad is a good person. If you called state, you'd hear that from our social worker." They nod, though I'm not so sure they believe me.

"Can one of you ride in the ambulance and give a medical history?" The woman asks. Dada and I exchange looks.

"Ed? If I texted things to you could you do it?" Dad asks. I nod.

"Yeah," I reply. "I know some stuff already, too." Dada smiles warmly at me.

"I know, honey," he tells me. "You're a good big brother." I grin like an idiot briefly at the praise before turning back to look at Al.

"How can I help?" I ask the paramedics.

"Michelle and I are going to get him on the stretcher," the man explains. "You and your dad might have to help stabilize him. After that, he'll just need you to hold his hand, okay?" I nod. I can do that.

"Let me know if you need help lifting," Dad tells them worriedly. The man nods and walks over to Al. He squats down in front of him, Al crying silently.

"Hey, buddy," the man greets, "My name is Tyrone. You go by Al, right?" Al nods, his chin quivering pathetically.

"Uh-huh," Al answers.

"Okay, Al, has the world stopped moving yet?" Tyrone asks.

"I… I think so," Al replies. "I'm scared."

"I bet," Tyrone says. "Your dad said you've never experienced anything like this before. I bet it's scary."

"Al was having a panic attack before the vertigo started," Dada mentions. "He has anxiety and a panic disorder. I don't know if the panic attack and vertigo are connected, but Al does get worn out after panic attacks so he's going to be pretty floppy." Tyrone nods.

"Okay, Michelle and I are going to stand you up and help you onto our stretcher," Tyrone explains. "You'll be pretty weak and tired so try to nap. When you get to the ED, don't try getting up without help. You'll be too weak and that weakness might go on for several hours or even days depending on what caused your vertigo. The ED is going to make sure nothing serious is going on." Al nods and the other paramedic, Michelle, walks over.

"Count of three," Michelle says.

"One," they count together, "two, three." They stand Al up, Al flopping forward 'cause he's weak and tired. They help him on to the stretcher and cover him up with a blanket. Dada walks over to me and hands me my new phone.

"I wanted this to have more pomp and circumstance but I digress," Dad tells me. "My number's already in there. I'll text you Al's medical history including past surgeries and medications he's on and all you have to do is read it to them, okay?" I nod.

"Okay," I say anxiously. "Dad, what if they hot line you?"

"Then they hot line me," Dad replies. "Honey, we have a social worker who knows our family's history. She might have to visit sooner than we have planned but that would be it. No one is going to take you and Al away from me." I nod, not convinced, but I'm doing my best to trust Dada. It's scary, but I want my anxiety to stop making liars out of the people I trust the most.

"Did you put a passcode on it?" I ask. Dad shakes his head.

"No, sweetie," Dada answers. "Okay, walk with Al to the ambulance. I'll meet you boys at the ER." I nod and give Dada a quick hug. He kisses my hair and walks over to the stretcher. He kisses Al's forehead and I walk to the other side of the stretcher.

"You're going to be okay," Dada tells Al. "Try to relax, okay? All the doctors are going to do is make sure nothing serious is going on. I think this I secondary to a migraine."

"O-Okay," Al whimpers.

"See you in a few minutes," Dad says, finally walking out the door. I hold Al's hand as the paramedics push him out to the ambulance. I have to let go of his hand as they load the stretcher in and I climb in the back as soon as they tell me it's okay. My phone's vibrating so I look at it. I already have five lengthy texts from Dada. I sit down on the cushioned bench in the back of the ambulance as Tyrone starts to take Al's vitals.

"Um, my dad texted me some of Al's medical history," I tell him nervously. Tyrone nods.

"Let me get these vitals, okay?" He says. "Then I'll get that history from you."

"Yeah, okay," I reply. "Uh, Al hates getting his blood pressure taken."

"I'll make it as quick as possible," Tyrone says, getting everything hooked up to Al. Al's silently crying, sniffling loudly.

"You okay?" I ask him gently. He shakes his head so I ask, "Does your head still hurt?"

"Y-Yeah," he whimpers. "My tummy's upset."

"I know, buddy," I comforted, Al's breathing picking up as the blood pressure cuff tightens around his arm. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay. It'll be over soon, Alphie. It's okay."

"Okay," Tyrone sighed, removing all the equipment from Al. "Let's hear that history." I nod and unlock my phone. Some of the texts aren't about Al's medical history but just texts Dad sent to make me feel better.

"So, Al's a preemie," I begin, "He was born at six months. He was a relatively healthy baby according to Dada. No food allergies and no drug allergies. Alphie does have a latex allergy, though. Al also has seasonal allergies and is allergic to dust. Um, Al had appendicitis when he was seven and got his appendix removed. He had his tonsils out when he was twelve 'cause he had strep throat a lot. Al has PTSD, generalized anxiety, panic disorder, and depression. Al also has overactive bladder with urge incontinence sometimes. He doesn't have any issues with breathing or his heart, but does have acid reflex and constipation constantly. He's got a history of chronic malnutrition which is why he's having trouble putting on weight." I look up at Tyrone and say, "That's all my dad sent me."

"Any medications?" Tyrone asks.

"Not right now," I tell him. I look at my phone and read; "We've tried things to help control the depression and anxiety, but the side effects made him super tired and irritable so  
the doctor took him off."

"Your father mentioned a history of migraines," Tyrone says. I nod and he goes on, "What does he normally take for migraines?"

"Tylenol," I answer. "Just one pill, I think."

"Nothing for the overactive bladder?" Tyrone asks. I shake my head.

"No, Dada didn't want him on something for that 'cause the side effects are risky," I explain. "He pees around the same times every day and that pretty much works. He has issues sometimes but not very often. Dr. Marcoh, that's our doctor, thinks he's actually starting to grow out of it."

"Is there anything else your dad mentioned that's relevant to what's going on?" Tyrone questions.

"Not really," I answer, scrolling through the messages Dada sent me. "Nothing else is really wrong with him. Other than that stuff, Al's pretty healthy. We both are, all things considered."

"That's all I need from you, thank you," Tyrone tells me. "The ED will have access to all of his health record so there's no need to pester your father for more information. He was pretty detailed."

"So, what happens after the vertigo?" I ask nervously.

"Well, it's sort of like what happens after a seizure," Tyrone explains. "Do you remember what I said back at the store?" I nod.

"Yeah," I answer. "You said he's gonna be really tired and weak for a while. That happens after a seizure, too?"

"That's right," Tyrone confirms. "Both events are extremely fatiguing and once some of his anxiety goes down, your brother's probably going to be sleeping for a while and if he's not sleeping, he's not going to be doing much of anything."

"You sleepy, Al?" I ask. Al nods, his lip trembling.

"Yeah-uh," he whimpers.

"I know you're scared," I tell him gently. "But it's okay. You can take a nap if you want."

"I'm cold, Brother," Al cries.

"Shh, I know," I coo softly, "I know. We'll get you changed soon." Al's crying again so I hold out my phone for him.

"I linked my phone with my iPad so I've got my coloring book apps on my phone," I tell him softly. "Want to color for a little while?" Al nods, his chin quivering.

"Only if you color with me," Al answers. I smile at him and nod.

"Yeah, sure," I reply. I unlock my phone and hand it to my brother. "Pick one, okay?" Al nods and I see him weakly tapping on my phone. He starts to color with his index finger, his eyelids dropping. I watch as one of his thumbs goes into his mouth, Tyrone glancing over at us briefly.

"Is he okay?" Tyrone asks.

"He's okay," I reply. "He sucks his thumb sometimes when he's anxious. He's trying to break the habit."

"And he's fourteen, right?" Tyrone questions. I glare at him.

"Yeah," I say shortly, crossing my arms. "And he's completely normal but was, you know, abused when he was a little kid." Tyrone's eyes widen and he looks a way guiltily.

"Sorry," he apologizes.

"He was four when it started," I say, the words rolling off my tongue before I can stop them. God, there are times I wish my bubbles would trap my words. Usually, I don't want them to but there are times where I wish they did. This is one of those times. "It ended when my step-mom was arrested. Al was eleven. So, basically, his whole early childhood was abuse."

"You don't have to say anything else, I'm sorry," Tyrone tells me. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Ed," Al says sleepily. "Look." I look over and Al's trying to hand me my phone. I smile and take it from him. He colored a picture of a lion.

"Good job," I praise.

"Your turn," Al yawns, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

"Okay," I say. I decide to color a picture of fish and show Al when I'm done. We pass my phone back and forth until we get to the hospital. They took us to the hospital in Resembool. Resembool has the biggest hospital for a few miles so lots of emergencies from surrounding towns go there. There's a hospital near Morton and one in Peoria. We were close enough to home, though, for the paramedics to take us there. Tyrone pulls the stretcher out of the ambulance and I follow them. Tyrone and Michell push the stretcher into the ER and help Al get off the stretcher and into the bed in the room. He's pretty out of it but is still kinda awake. The paramedics talk to the nurses and leave. One of the two nurses leaves, the other one looking over at us.

"Okay, I'm going to go and get your father," she tells us with a smile. "Once your dad's in here, I'll assess your brother and talk with the physician. We'll get some tests going and hopefully get you guys out of here so the poor little guy can sleep." I nod and the nurse leaves. Al shuts his eyes and I sit down on the edge of his bed. I decide to lay down next to him and notice how much he's shivering. Al must be freezing. He's still wearing his wet clothes and is still sweating really bad.

"Al," I say quietly, "Are you cold?" Al nods, huddling closer to me. "I'm sorry." The door opens and I sit up as Dada walks in.

"Hey, boys," Dad greets. He walks over and the nurse comes in after him. "I asked the nurse to bring Al something dry to wear."

"Good," I say, sitting up on the edge of the bed. "He's cold, Dada." Dad nods and walks over.

"How's he doing?" Dad asks me.

"He's tired," I answer. "Changing might be hard."

"I can assist him," the nurse replies. "I don't want him up and walking so soon after a vertigo episode." Dada nods.

"Neither do I," Dad agrees. I hop off the bed and the nurse walks over.

"Alphonse," she addresses gently. "Honey, do you need to go to the bathroom?" Al moans and opens his eyes.

"No," he whines.

"Okay," the nurse says. "Then if you want to change your clothes, we have to do it in bed, okay?" Al nods weakly and the nurse turns back to look at me and Dad; "Would you two mind stepping out while we change his clothes? I'll come get you when we're done." Dad nods and puts his hand right between my shoulder blades.

"C'mon, Ed," he says softly. "Let's give Alphie some privacy."

"But…." I trail off, looking over at the bed. Al's staring at me, big hazel eyes filling up with tears. "He's still anxious, Dada. We can't leave him."

"Edward, I know he's still anxious but the nurse can't get him out of his wet clothes with both of us standing here," Dada explains. "She has rules she has to follow. If he were younger, I'm sure we could both stay but he's fourteen and the nurse has a duty to protect his privacy."

"Yeah, but," I say, gesturing for Dada to lean down so I can whisper in his ear. He does so I whisper, "This might make him think of his bad touch, Dad, and send him into another panic attack."

"Okay, honey, I'll ask the nurse if just one of us can stay with him," Dad whispers back, standing up straight and walking away. He walks over to the nurse and pulls her away from Al. I walk back over to the bed and sit down, Al worming his way over to me.

"You're not gonna leave, are you?" Al asks, obviously scared.

"Nah," I say confidently. "Not in a million years." I look up, the nurse walking over to me.

"Okay, your dad's going to wait right outside the room," she tells me and Al. "Edward, right?" I nod and she goes on, "You can stay since your brother seems to want some company during all this. I understand this has been hard on him."

"Yeah and I don't want him to have another panic attack," I say. "He's still getting over one." The nurse nods.

"That's what your father told me," she replies. "Okay, Edward, please get off the bed so I can get started. It'll be difficult to hold your brother's hand through all this but you can stand near the head of the bed and talk to him the whole time." I nod and hop off the bed. Al whimpers so I turn around and smile at him.

"It's okay," I assure him. "The nurse isn't gonna hurt you. All she's gonna do is change your clothes." Al nods, his chin quivering. I walk to the head of the bed and watch the nurse throw a thick, towel-looking blanket over the blankets already on top of Al. She works the other blankets out from under the new blanket, leaving Al covered up still. That was smart.

"So," the nurse begins, "I'll do as much of the work as possible, but if you feel like you can help, Alphonse, feel free to jump right in. It's okay if you can't, though. I know you're tired and don't feel good." Al doesn't do anything so I nod at her.

"Yeah," I say, "Okay." The nurse stands closer to the bed and raises it up so it's at her waist. She then pulls a tiny hand sanitizer bottle out and uses some on her hands before pulling gloves out of her pocket and putting them on. Her pockets kinda remind me of Mary Poppins' bag; it's bottomless. Anything you could ever want is inside. Anyways, the nurse pushes the blanket aside around Al's hips and I can hear Al start to wheeze. Oh, no. This isn't good. He's basically in the same position he was when the bad touch happened. I knew that memory was going to be an issue. I want to say something to the nurse before she starts but she's fast. Her hands are already at the waist of his jeans and she's attempting to work them off of him. I can see Al tense up, his eyes widening as he hyperventilates.

"Hey," I say quietly, the nurse ignoring me. I huff; I was talking to her, not Al. Guess she thought it was the other way around. Al starts screaming loudly, the nurse recoiling instantly.

"What's the matter?" She asks calmly. "Did I hurt you? I'm sorry, honey." I look at her and shake my head.

"Uh, you didn't hurt him," I tell her, my voice shaking. The nurse's brow furrows and I take a deep breath; "Al was molested by a boy in a foster home when he was eleven. He was in bed when it happened and the boy pulled all his clothes off. Al's just scared."

"Oh, my goodness," the nurse says softly. "I had no idea, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I assure her. "It's not something we like to talk about. My dad and I didn't even know it happened until just a few days ago."

"I see," the nurse replies. She shakes her head and says, "Until he calms down, I can't do anything for him."

"Would it be easier to get him up and on the potty?" I ask.

"Easier, no," the nurse tells me. "Better for him? Yes, I would say so." I nod, Al hyperventilating loudly in bed.

"I think we should try it," I say. The nurse nods.

"Here's what I can do," she starts, "I can run and get a bedside commode so that he doesn't have to get into a wheel chair, out of a wheel chair, on to the toilet, off the toilet, back in the wheel chair, and then have to get in bed. That would be very hard for him considering how fatigued he is. With the bedside commode, he can just move from the bed to the commode and back again."

"I like that," I say. "I'll calm him down." The nurse nods and leaves the room. I turn to Al and climb up into bed with him. It may not be a good idea, but I decide to touch him. I know it can freak him out most of the time but thing is he's already freaked out. Maybe holding him will calm him down. I get closer, feeling Al's already tense body attempt to get away from me. I put my arms around him and pull him in close, Al trying to fight me.

"Shh," I whisper, the struggling coming to an end, "Shh. It's okay. It's just Brother. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. You're safe, buddy. It's okay. I'm right here." Al relaxes a little, still wheezing loudly as he starts to cry. I pull him up into my lap and sit up, starting to rock him back and forth; back and forth. He cries and cries and the only thing I can do is offer him Chico and the gentle motion of rocking him. Al sobs loudly into me and I lower my face into his shoulder.

"It's okay, Al," I whimper. "I got you." My throat's tightening up and I wish there was more I could do for Al. Eventually, holding him and rocking him will get him to calm down. Eventually. I just wish that there was more I could do to help. The door opens and I lift my head. The nurse is back with the bedside commode. It kinda looks like a potty chair, but bigger. I think I've seen one before. Mom had one, I think, sometimes while in the hospital. The nurse brings it over, standing awkwardly next to the bed.

"Should I come back in a few minutes?" The nurse asks. I nod.

"He won't stop crying," I tell her. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, buddy," she assures me. "Push the call light when he's calm, okay?" I nod and she leaves again. I don't know where Dada is. Maybe in the bathroom or getting coffee or something. He hasn't come back yet. Not that there's much he could do, though. None of us can do anything when Al cries like this. I guess I just want him to be here so he could make me feel better. Al's not crying nearly as hard now. I can hear him sucking his thumb and I sigh in relief. The worst is over, I think.

"Alphie," I address softly, "The nurse brought you this potty to sit on so you can change your clothes. Are you ready to get up?" I feel Al nod and I reach for the call light and push the button. "The nurse will be here in a minute. Are you okay?"

"I'm tired," Al says quietly. "My body's heavy, Brother."

"Does your head still hurt?" I ask.

"Yeah," he replies. "I have a migraine."

"I know, bud," I say. "I think that's why you had vertigo." Al tenses up, whimpering softly. "What?"

"I have to pee," he tells me urgently. "Now."

"But, the nurse isn't back yet," I say. "I don't know if I can help you."

"Ed, I gotta pee," Al says desperately, pulling away. He's still got a thumb in his mouth, his chin quivering.

"Okay," I sigh. "Okay. Uh, I'll do my best to help." I quickly get out of the bed and drag the commode as close to the bed as possible while still giving Al room to stand up. I turn back to him, Al struggling to swing his legs over the side of the bed. I hurry and help him, Al swaying side to side as he struggles to stay sitting. Al weakly scoots forward, his shoes touching the floor.

"Ready?" I ask. Al nods and I say, "I'll help you stay on your feet and we'll turn around. Uh, why don't you hold on to my waist?"

"Okay," Al says, standing up. He nearly falls over and I hold my arms out. He grabs my arms and I know I gotta work fast. I start to turn, Al dragging his feet in sync with mine. I get Al positioned and help him get his jeans off. He flops down and sighs loudly. I bend forward, panting slightly.

"Let's never do that again," I tell him, winded. "That was crazy hard." Al nods.

"Yeah," he pants. "Thanks, Brother." I nod.

"You're welcome," I reply. "I'm just glad I didn't drop you."

"I wanna change," Al says. I nod and grab the hospital clothes the nurse left. The fabric is really scratchy and I grimace.

"I think these are too rough for your skin," I tell him. Al looks over at me, bags under his eyes. I shake my head and walk over to him. "You won't have to wear them for long. We'll be home soon and when we get home you can wear some really soft pajamas." Al nods and I hand him the scratchy hospital shirt. Al tries to put it on himself, but is too weak to pull the old shirt off.

"Buddy, is your shirt wet at all?" I ask. Al shakes his head so I say, "Let's not worry about the shirt, then. We'll just change your pants." Someone knocks at the door and comes in.

"Nursing." It's Al's nurse, her eyes widening when she sees he's on the commode.

"Did you get out of bed on your own?" She asks calmly. I shake my head.

"He had to pee so I helped him," I explain. "When Al's gotta go, he's gotta go. He can't wait."

"I'm glad you were able to assist him but let's try to avoid that in the future," she tells me. "While he's in the ED, only nurses should assist him in and out of bed." I nod.

"Sorry," I apologize. The nurse smiles at me.

"It's okay," she assures me. "You're a good brother for helping out. I'll change his bottoms, okay? You don't have to worry about it." I step aside and grab Al's hand.

"I'm ready to nap," Al tells me softly. I grin weakly at him.

"I bet," I reply.

"Alphonse, are you in pain?" The nurse asks as she pulls his wet jeans off. Al nods and she asks, "Where?"

"My head," he answers quietly. "I have a migraine."

"And on a scale of zero to ten, zero being no pain and ten being the worst pain, how would you rate your pain?" She asks.

"Seven," Al answers.

"I'll give you something for the pain, okay?" She tells him. "Just by looking at you and based on what the paramedics told me, it's a good bet the vertigo was caused by your migraine. I'll give the data to the doctor and if he thinks nothing else is going on, he'll let you go. He may want to do a CT scan, but it's not scary." Al just kinda stares at her, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm tired," he whines.

"I know," she says. "Are you done going potty?"

"Yeah," Al answers.

"Let's get up and get you tucked in so you can sleep," the nurse says. She counts to three and helps Al stand up. He leans on her, the nurse pulling his pants up and guiding him to the bed. His movements are stiff and heavy, shuffling his feet. He sits down and the nurse puts his feet in the bed. She tucks him in, reminds him to use his call light, and leaves to get him some pain medicine. I crawl into the cramped hospital bed, Al falling asleep long before the nurse or Dada come back.

Al got a bunch of tests done on him to eliminate something more serious that could have caused the vertigo. All the tests came back negative so he got discharged. Dada was thinking he should cancel on Lucy tonight but I told him Al'd be fine. Granny and I will take good care of him. Dad wasn't sure but in the end, I convinced him to go on his date as planned. We went back home and Dad got ready while I looked after Al. Al was sleeping and he's still sleeping. Dad didn't take long to get dressed and he took us to Winry's. Al's sleeping on the couch now, Dada talking to Granny about what happened. I'm sitting next to Al, playing on my phone. I really like it so far. Winry comes in and sits down across from me, staring at Al. I look up at her, her brow knitted together with worry.

"He's fine, you know," I tell her offhandedly. Winry looks over at me and nods.

"Yeah, I know," Winry replies. "Was it scary?"

"Terrifying," I answer. "I've never seen Al so scared and helpless before. He couldn't even hold his head up."

"Geeze," Winry sighs. "I hope this is an isolated incident."

"You and me both," I scoff, Dada coming into the living room.

"I've got to go," he tells me. I nod and Dada walks over to me. He squats down and says, "Call me if anything happens, okay? I'll come straight home."

"I will," I say. "But we'll be fine. Have fun, okay?" Dad smiles warmly at me and kisses my forehead.

"You're a good kid," he praises. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I tell him. He stands up and walks over to the couch Al's on. He bends over and kisses Al's hair before standing up straight.

"Have fun, Uncle Victor," Winry chirps. Dada smiles at her.

"I will," he replies. "You kids have fun, too. I'll see you all later tonight." I nod and Dada leaves. Winry leans closer to me and says,

"Granny was thinking of ordering pizza. You up for it?"

"Yeah, sure," I reply. "I'm never opposed to pizza, Win."

"Yeah, yeah," she dismisses. "What about Al?"

"He may sleep through dinner," I point out.

"Okay, but if he doesn't?" Winry asks.

"Soup, probably," I answer. "He was feeling really barfy earlier." Winry nods, Al moaning softly and stirring. I look over at him, his eyes slowly opening.

"Uh," he groans, trying to sit up. He's too weak, though, and just falls back on to the couch.

"Hey," I say as Al looks over at me, bags under his eyes.

"What time is it?" Al asks sleepily.

"5:30," I answer. "Dada just left for his date."

"Oh," Al yawns.

"You okay, Ally?" Winry asks nervously. I roll my eyes as Al chuckles softly.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Al replies weakly. "Just super tired."

"Is your migraine gone?" I ask.

"Uh-huh," Al answers. "My tummy's still upset."

"I can get you something for that," Winry tells him, standing. "Be right back." Al shifts weakly on the couch, moaning quietly.

"What's the matter?" I ask.

"I think I gotta pee again," Al complains.

"Think you can get up?" I question. Al shakes his head and sighs.

"No," he tells me, his eye lids drooping. "I'm tired, Brother."

"Okay, buddy," I say. "Just stay awake a bit longer so Winry can give you that medicine. After that you can go back to sleep." Al nods, Winry and Granny coming back in.

"How's he doing?" Granny asks, Winry walking over and handing me the medicine.

"I'm fine," Al answers sleepily. "Just tired."

"Does he need anything besides the medicine?" Granny questions. I shake my head.

"He just needs to sleep some more," I reply.

"Okay," Granny says. "I'm going to order some pizza."

"I don't think Al's gonna eat," I tell her.

"That's fine," she says. "Be right back." I nod and help Al drink down the medicine. He sighs, falling asleep almost instantly. I sit near the couch all evening, staying near him so he doesn't get scared. I gotta take care of him, even if he's asleep. If I don't, I won't be doing my job – the only job that I know how to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, today marks the second year anniversary of me posting this story online. I've talked a lot about this story but I think it bears repeating; I never thought this story would span 55 chapters, have so many people reading, and have such a loyal readership. This was literally all an experiment, one I was writing just to practice in first person present. I never imagined all the turns the story has taken, never even pictured the response. So many people have told me about how this story has connected with them on an emotional level because they relate to something Ed and Al have been through, something their family and/or friends have been through, or the boys are feeling something that's real - something that's tangible. The heart of this story is you guys just as much as it's Ed. Ed and Al's story, their recovery, and their hearts are what fuels what I write, but you guys do, too. Without you, I don't know where this story would have gone or how it would have ended. Maybe there still would have been 55 chapters, maybe it would have ended before the first anniversary. The point is, I am extremely humbled and grateful for the response to this story and I hope it continues to touch your lives like it has touched mine. Thank you all so much for reading and here's to another great year.


	56. Al Gets Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an amazing thing when you get glasses for the first time.

After Al's vertigo episode on Saturday, the weekend was pretty dull. He was still kinda weak on and off yesterday but he could actually get up and walk around so that was a major improvement. Saturday night, he literally slept the entire time we were at Winry's. Winry was super worried about him and kept checking on him when she didn't need to. He was fine. He was just tired. He did freak me out pretty good on Saturday, though. I was hanging out in Winry's room when I decided I wanted to peak in on him. Dada had sent me a text saying that he'd be back in an hour or so and I wanted to see if Al was doing better. I went down stairs and he wasn't on the couch he had been on all night. I got scared and started to frantically search the main floor when I found him lying face down on the floor in the hallway near the dining room and the bathroom. I remembered he mentioned a few hours ago that he felt like he needed to go pee and I figured he got up without thinking about it and got too winded to make it. He was asleep already when I found him, drooling into the carpet. Granny helped me get him up and he woke up just long enough to help me get him cleaned up before falling asleep all over again. I'm just glad he didn't get hurt.

It's Monday so it's pancake day. Al and I both have two doctor appointments today. I'm kinda nervous about the dentist. Me and Al hate the dentist. When we were kids, she brought us to the meanest dentist she could find. He liked to pull baby teeth out just because and never used numbing medicine. I felt everything every time we went and I hated going. That's actually one of the few things growing up I actually told Dada about when it was happening. When I told Dad, he told her who, of course, sounded all appalled and disgusted when he told her. She knew, though. It was what she wanted. Anyways, Dad filed a police report and we didn't have to see that dentist anymore. She was super pissed at me and beat me pretty good when Dada left as punishment. Now, we're still scared of the dentist. I'm terrified they won't numb me up or they'll just pull teeth out for no good reason. Al's scared of that, too. At least the eye doctor might be fun. Al's gonna get glasses and I'll get to help him pick out a pair. I know Al's gonna get glasses 'cause it's pretty obvious he can't see. Like, he was hiding it pretty well until Friday when he told me and Dad he was having trouble seeing things that are far away. Now I can see him squinting at the TV or when we're in the car he'll squint at street signs so he can read them. I bet he's been doing it since it started but me and Dad just didn't notice. I'm good at noticing things with Al, but I don't catch everything. I'm not Superman or anything.

After we finish eating, Dada gives me the note to turn in at the front office that says me and Al are leaving after third period. I take it and put it in my pocket, Al's face resting up against the cool window in the backseat. He's still pretty worn out today, but can actually function. I really hope what happened on Saturday is a one-time deal 'cause seeing him like that was awful. I've never seen Al so scared, like, ever. I've seen him close to that, but never that level before. Well, maybe a few times as a little kid but I can't think of anything specific right now. Wait – the trunk. He was that scared before she locked him in the trunk. Oh, and he was that scared the first night we ever spent in a foster home. So, okay, I have seen him that scared before but it is rare. I bet it was super scary for the world to start tilting underneath his feet. I can't really imagine what that would feel like. At least he's feeling better now. Dad stops at a stoplight, Al leaning forward a bit from the backseat.

"Dad?" He asks softly.

"Yes?" Dad replies.

"I never said sorry to you," Al says guiltily. Dad's brow furrows and he quickly looks over at me like he expects me to know what hell Al's talking about. I shrug and try to tell him with my eyes that I have no clue. He hasn't cut in a while and Al, like, never does anything bad so I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Al, what are you talking about?" Dad asks gently. Al's chin quivers and he lowers his face.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers, his whole body shaking. "I'm sorry."

"For what, sweetie?" Dada prompts.

"I d-didn't r-reach my goal," Al replies miserably, his voice shaking. "I sucked my thumb Saturday when I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"Alphonse, honey, you don't have to apologize," Dad tells him softly. "Those goals are in place so you have a physical way to track progress. You were under a lot of stress Saturday and you were scared and sleepy. It's okay to regress a little bit. It's actually expected considering everything that's happened to you. It's fine. There's nothing to apologize for." Al shakes his head, clearly not convinced.

"Al," I say, "The goal says 'try', right?" Al looks up at me and nods.

"Then just try not to the rest of this week, 'kay?" I suggest with a grin. "Then you can go to Dr. Bergmann next week and tell her that you only did it one time when you were awake and she'll be proud of you!"

"You think so?" Al questions.

"I know so," I assure him. "Me and Dada are already proud, okay?"

"Ed's right," Dad agrees. "You didn't do anything wrong. You've been working so hard and I'm so proud of you." Al's face splits into a smile and I marvel at how freaking easy it can be to cheer Al up. All we have to say is that we're proud of him, that we love him, or that he's a good boy and his bad moods clear up instantly. I wish I could be more like that, but I'm not.

"Well," Al begins, "I'm proud of you and Brother, too."

"Yeah?" Dada prompts, chuckling.

"Yeah!" Al echoes eagerly. "You haven't used your phone at meals, Dada, like, at all and you've been really patient lately. And Ed's been patient, too, and I think he's starting to control his feelings better. I'm proud." I grin weakly, though I don't think I'm controlling my feelings better. Last week after group, I completely blew up at both Dada and Al. I don't think that's controlling my feelings better. But, I guess outside of that isolated incident, I haven't really snapped at anyone and I haven't said anything nasty to someone because I was upset. Maybe I really am reaching the goals I made. I don't know. I have tried counting in my head when I'm mad and most of the time, it works and I don't yell.

"Thank you, Al," Dad says warmly. "I've been trying very hard to do what Dr. Bergmann thinks will help. I'm tired of feeling guilty and crappy all the time. I think we all are."

"I know I am," I comment, turning to look out the window. "I've felt this way for ten years. I'm ready to just be normal."

"You boys are more normal than you think," Dada says. "Trust me." I turn and scowl at him, Dad smiling like an idiot at me. I giggle and shake my head, Dada pulling up to school. He parks and says, "Okay, boys, I'm picking you both up at 10:30, so try to be ready. The dentist is at 10:50 and the eye doctor is at 1:15. We should have time to eat in between, but if not we can eat a late lunch before therapy."

"Brother packed me a sandwich just in case," Al says. "And I made one for Ed so we can have a snack."

"You boys thought ahead," Dad praises. He leans over to kiss me and Al leans forward so Dada can kiss him. "I love you. Have a good day, boys. See you in a couple of hours."

"See ya," I say, getting out of the car.

"Bye, Dada," Al says softly, climbing out of the car and standing next to me. I can feel his anxiety beginning to creep up so I hold his hand. He looks gratefully at me and we start walking to school. Al holds my hand super tight, shaking harder than he usually does. As we get to the main steps, I pull my hand out of his and climb the staircase. We can't hold hands at school. Al's already bullied enough and I don't want to add to that by holding his hand in front of all those kids. I make it to the top, puzzled when I don't see Al next to me. I turn around and see Al still standing at the bottom of the stairs. I groan – again? Two major attacks in two days? I start to make my way down when I see Winry coming up behind him. I pause halfway, kids glaring at me 'cause I'm in the way, and listen.

"C'mon, Ally," she encourages softly. "It's okay. You don't wanna be late, right?" Al shakes his head, his chin quivering. Winry walks in front of him and says, "I know school's hard for you. I know it's been hard lately but you're strong. You can do it, Al." I can't see Al at all. I inch closer and Winry pulls Al into a hug. I finally make it back down, standing right next to Winry. I cross my arms and ask,

"Is he crying?" Winry looks over at me.

"I figured you weren't here," she tells me.

"I walked up the stairs and he didn't," I explain.

"Well, obviously," Winry mumbles. "Yeah, he's crying. He's scared, I think."

"Well, obviously," I scoff, Winry glaring at me.

"What the hell's your problem today?" She demands, Al quivering in her arms.

"Nothing," I reply shortly. Winry holds her glare and I say, "We're anxious 'cause we've got to go to the dentist."

"Oh," Winry breathes, understanding. She looks at Al's blond head and says, "Something else is bothering Al. I can tell." I frown.

"He might be upset 'cause I stopped holding his hand," I say, "But I only stopped 'cause I don't want to fuel the bullying that's already going on."

"Yeah, that's fair," Winry replies.

"He might also be worried about vertigo or thumb-sucking or something like that," I go on. "Al does tend to worry about literally everything."

"That's not exactly a healthy way to live, Al," Winry tells him lightly.

"I know," Al says, his voice muffled by her shirt. "I know it's not good to worry about everything but I do. I can't help it. I wish I didn't."

"I know," she replies. "I actually think you don't worry as much as you used to so that's good, right?" I see Al nod and I walk over to him. I scratch his back lightly and say,

"It's okay. You'll be fine. You're brave and you'll be okay. It's a half day for us, remember?" Al nods again.

"Yeah," he says, pulling away from Winry and quickly wiping his face with his hands. He sniffles loudly and says, "I can do a half day."

"And the dentist will be fine," Winry assures him. "Your dentist is my dentist now and she's super nice. She's nothing like that gross guy." I shudder and nod.

"Fucking creep," I mutter. Winry checks her phone and says,

"C'mon, you guys. We're running out of time." I nod and start to walk up the stairs all over again. I quickly turn in the note and we walk to class. Al trails silently behind Winry and me, his head hanging. I shake my head and walk toward his class, Al far behind us.

"What's the matter with him?" Winry asks me worriedly in a hushed voice.

"God, Win," I groan, "Do I really gotta go through everything? He was abused by our step-mom, molested by a boy when he was eleven, he's bullied at school, he's got bad anxiety, he had almost no friends at school, he's shy –"

"Okay," Winry snaps in a whisper, cutting me off, "I get it. I just feel like something more is bothering him today then he's let on."

"And maybe there is," I tell her. "Doesn't mean we'll ever know what it is."

"You'll know," Winry insists.

"Maybe," I reply, getting angry. "Al doesn't tell me everything. He tells me most things, but not every little thing."

"I figured he did," Winry says.

"He doesn't," I reply shortly. "It's not sibling law or anything. You don't have to tell your siblings everything. Or anything, for that matter."

"Guess you and Al are lucky, then," Winry comments. I look at her and she says, "You guys tell each other most things. I guess not all siblings do." I pause, Al slowly making his way over to us. I shake my head and walk over to him.

"Al," I address, Al flinching a little. I slow down, taking a few deep breaths before saying, "What's the matter?" Al looks at me and swallows nervously, shaking his head.

"Nothing," he answers.

"You're anxious," I say bluntly, getting annoyed. "You don't gotta tell me why but we are running out of time. We'll be late if we take much longer and my first period teacher is super strict about tardies. I can't help if you won't talk to me so let's just go." Al nods slightly, his chin quivering. We take a few more steps before Al hurries down the other end of the hall.

"God damn it," I grumble, Winry hurrying to stand next to me.

"What happened?" She questions worried.  
"Hell if I know," I mutter, crossing my arms. "He won't talk to me and he's probably having an anxiety attack. He's being stubborn." The bell rings and I grimace.

"Shit," I groan. "And now we're late."

"Edward, who cares about that?" Winry demands. "We gotta go get Al. If he's crying or something, it could get ugly. Ryan Vaus isn't the only person in this school who gives Al a hard time." I nod, though I'm not really in the mood. I'm annoyed. There are times that I wish Al could control his anxiety like I can. I wish he would suck it up. I do. I do it all the time. I'm just as anxious as he is but I don't let it control my life like he does. I used to, but I don't so much anymore. Al still does. Sure, it doesn't look like lying in bed for days, never eating, never speaking, and constantly pissing himself anymore but it still controls him. Now it looks like constant anxiety and panic attacks, Chico, and thumb sucking. Same problem, different ways of dealing with it. I know it's not his fault, but I get annoyed sometimes. That's all.

"Fine," I say angrily. "Let's go."

"Ed," Winry says, "Don't be mean to Al. It's not his fault."  
"No, but he could afford to grow up a little," I snap. "He's such a big baby all the time." Winry's eyes widen and she glares at me.

"How could you say that?" Winry demands shrilly.

"Because it's true!" I yell. "He is a baby! Dad and I have to do everything for him! He needs to be tucked in at night so he can sleep! He sucks his thumb, pees his pants, cries all the time, and won't eat a sandwich if the crust is on it! The bedwetting has gotten so bad again, he might have to start wearing diapers to bed! He is a baby! And you know it!" Winry heaves, standing in front of me.

"Is that how you really feel!?" She questions angrily. "Do you really feel like he's this huge annoyance or burden for you to take care of?" I shrug.

"Sometimes," I admit softly.

"That's selfish!" Winry snaps. "It's selfish and you know it! Al's been through so much! You both have! He's made so much progress but all you can see is how much he still needs us to help him pull through! Newsflash, Edward, but you're kind of a big baby, too!"

"What?!" I demand.

"You heard me!" Winry snaps. "You cry all the time, too! You still pee the bed! You pee in your pants when you have panic attacks sometimes, too! You throw up more than a colicky baby! You carry a blanket around in your backpack! You sleep with your dad! You hate crust on your sandwiches, too! Maybe the reason you're so annoyed with Al is 'cause you do a lot of the same things, too, and you're frustrated!" I stare at her, my jaw hanging open. I probably look like a fucking idiot, but I don't really care. I don't even know what to say after all that. I really don't. Winry blinks quickly, her lip trembling. With a shaking voice, she says,

"You're supposed to be a team. I know how much you love Al. You love him so much. I just wish you'd finally understand that lashing out at him or yelling at him to grow up won't fix anything!" I hang my head, my shoulders bouncing up and down as I start to cry.

"I know it doesn't," I cry softly. "I know it doesn't b-but I g-g-get so frustrated a-and anxious and s-s-say things I d-d-don't mean."

"Ed," Winry says. I look up at her and she walks over to me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

"B-But it's all true," I say pathetically. Winry sighs and shakes her head.

"Maybe," she replies quietly. "Maybe it is all true. But it doesn't make you or Al babies or annoying or anything like that. I just wanted to remind you that you and Al are more alike than you remember sometimes. And that's not a bad thing. You just forget sometimes." I sniffle loudly and wipe my face.

"I know," I whimper. "I know. I just…." I trail off, not really sure what I want to say. I know that I do a lot of the same stuff Al does. I just hide it better than he does. I'm lying to myself when I say that I can control my anxiety better than Al can. The truth is, all I do is ignore it better than he does. I do let my anxiety rule my life. Going to the mall? Can't do that 'cause I might have a panic attack while I'm there. Sleeping over? I can't do that 'cause I might have a nightmare or wet the bed at their house. I'm always thinking of what-ifs and letting those bad things prevent me from doing the things I wanna do. My anxiety does rule my life. I just hide it better than Al can. I've always done that for Al's sake. I couldn't be weak or cry all the time when we were kids. I had to be strong and take care of him. I stare at the ground, realizing that maybe, just maybe, I do resent Al a little bit. I don't know what to do with that.

"C'mon," Winry says gently, "We need to go find Al. He's probably scared." I nod.

"Yeah," I agree. I start to walk away and pause.

"Ed?" Winry asks worriedly.

"What I said about Al, I didn't mean it," I say softy. "He does all that stuff, but I don't mind. I know it's not his fault and he's just doing his best do deal with everything that's happened." Winry takes my hand and squeezes it gently. She's so close I can smell her flowery perfume. Her skin is soft and warm and my cheeks get hot. I look at her, Winry staring at me. There are tears in her eye lashes, her cheeks flushed and pink. I lick my lips, Winry looking at me. Holy shit – she's beautiful. Winry is so, so beautiful.

"I know," she tells me. "You love that goof ball so much." I chuckle and nod, sniffling loudly.

"He is a goober, isn't he?" I laugh weakly.

"Yeah," Winry replies. She inches closer and I can feel her breath on my skin. The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My whole body feels weird. Winry blinks before slowly moving in closer to my lips. She purses her lips and I pull away quickly. I turn my head, Winry staying still. I'm… not ready for that. I thought I was, but I'm not.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"Ed," Winry sighs, clearly upset.

"Sorry," I repeat. "I like you but…. I can't do that right now. I've, uh, got Al. I gotta focus on him and me and getting better right now."

"You're right, I'm sorry," Winry says. "I guess I got carried away. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I tell her. "I wanna kiss you, just not right now. I can't."

"Let's go get Al," Winry says. She squeezes my hand, indicating she's not mad at me for pulling away and guides me down the hallway.

"I've never really been late to class before," I say randomly.

"Me either," Winry chuckles. "We're pretty bland, aren't we?"

"Bland is safe," I blurt, my cheeks instantly getting red. Winry's brow furrows but she nods.

"I guess it is," she agrees. "Nothing wrong with being safe." I nod as Winry goes on, "But, that's not how we move forward. We gotta get uncomfortable sometimes to move past stuff." I nod. I know that's true. It makes me anxious, but I know that's the only way to get better. Doing stuff that isn't bland or necessarily safe is sometimes the only way to get past anxiety or shit like that. But feeling safe isn't something I've had the luxury of like Winry has. Winry was blessed with being safe her whole life. Nobody hurt her. Nobody made her out to be a liar. Nobody beat her little brother bloody with their bare hands. Being safe means something totally different for her than it means for me. We walk down the hallway, and I start to listen closely for Al. I don't hear anything, my heart kinda beating funny.

"Al," I call. "Al, where are you?" Winry pauses, inching closer to the bathrooms. She presses her ear against the door and waves me over.

"Someone's crying in the boys' bathroom," Winry tells me. "It's probably Al." I nod and she backs up.

"Go to class," I instruct. "Explain what's going on and I'll meet you as soon as Al's better." Winry nods and walks off. I watch her for a second before opening the door and walking inside.

"Al," I say gently, the crying quieting. "Al, c'mon, buddy. It's okay." He whimpers loudly and I know it's Al for sure now. I know his voice so well he doesn't need to say words for me to know its him. All he has to do is whimper or groan and I know it's him. He starts crying again and I sigh. I bend over, spotting his feet in the last stall. I walk over and knock on the door.

"Alphie, open the door," I tell him. "Let me help, okay?" I hear movement from behind the door and it opens. My eyes widen, Al staring at me. His nose is bleeding, bruises forming on his right cheek and around his right eye.

"What the hell happened?" I demand worriedly. Al fidgets nervously, still crying.

"I-I fell down," Al tells me and I know he's lying. That was always our go-to when we were little kids. Bruised face? Fell down the stairs at home. Bruises on our shins and elbows? Fell down outside. Bruises on our soft, round tummies? Fell down riding our bike. It was always that we fell down or that we were rough housing with each other. That was always our story. I know it's a lie.

"Al, you can tell me the truth," I encourage. Al looks up at me, wiping his nose on his hand. Blood smears all over it and he whimpers loudly.

"A big kid found me in here," Al tells me and suddenly he's eleven to me. He's crying hard now, all bent over. He looks way smaller to me than usual – not that Al's all that big to begin with – and all I can see is a little eleven or twelve-year-old kid crying and telling me that the big kids are mean to him all the time. I squat down in front of him and he goes on, "I th-think he's R-Ryan's f-f-friend. I w-was having an an-anxiety attack and h-he laughed at me. I tr-tried to b-b-be more like you and t-tell him to st-stop, so he hit me." Al starts sobbing and I pull him into a hug.

"Shh," I coo, "It's okay, Al. It's okay. I'm proud of you for standing up for yourself. Good job." The last several months, me and Dad have been secretly working with Al so he'll learn how to be more independent. It's usually little things like having him make his own cereal in the mornings or cutting the crust off his own sandwiches. Sometimes Dada will have him make his own bed and gives him chores to do so he feels helpful but it's also so he has some responsibility at home. For a while, it didn't seem to really be helping much. Outside of standing up for himself last semester, he's been anxious about the independent thing. Like, he's so used to me or Dada making his breakfast in the morning that he sits around and doesn't do it until Dad tells him to. Then he gets upset and it's a whole big thing. It makes me so proud of him that he actually tried to stand up for himself today.

"I bet your face hurts," I say. I feel Al nod and I say, "Let's go to the nurse. We'll explain what happened and you won't get in trouble for being late."

"Promise?" Al asks.

"Yeah," I assure him. "Someone beat you up. I doubt anyone's gonna bark at you." I pull away from him and stand up. He looks up at me and I hold my hand out to him. He takes it and I pull him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Al apologizes.

"Don't do that," I tell him bluntly. Al's lip quivers and I say, "I, uh, wasn't being very nice to you when you were anxious and…." I stop talking as Al's brow furrows.

"What are you talking about?" Al asks. Oh. I guess he didn't think me telling him to either talk or just go to class was mean. Well, I do. I shrug.

"I was kinda short with you earlier," I explain. "And, uh, I'm sorry." Al sighs and shakes his head, eyes glued to the dingy school floor.

"It's okay," Al says, sniffing loudly.

"It's really not," I reply quickly. "This anxiety thing isn't your fault and I am trying to work on being patient so I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," Al tells me. We make it to the nurse and I lead him inside. The nurse has, like, this window you'd find in a doctor's office. There's a wall that separates the actual office from the waiting room. I tap on the glass, the nurse groaning from behind the window. She slides the glass door over and smiles when she see's it's me.

"What can I do for you boys?" She asks.

"Yeah, uh," I begin, shoving Al in front of me, "This is my little brother, Al."

"Yes, Ed, I know Al," the nurse chuckles. I don't know the nurse's last name, but I do know her first name is Rebecca so I never know what to call her. She's Ms. Hawkeye's friend and she's super nice.

"Oh, right," I say stupidly. "Some kid cornered him and hit him the face before class. Can he get an ice pack or something?" Ms. Rebecca smiles and nods.

"Sure," she replies. "I'll get you both a note to class, okay?" I nod and Ms. Rebecca disappears to open the door. The door opens and I guide Al back to the actual nurse's office. Ms. Rebecca gestures to a chair and Al sits down. Ms. Rebecca sits down across from Al on a rolling stool thing. She touches his face, Al wincing.

"That kid got you good," she comments. "Any idea who it was?" Al whimpers, getting pale. He shakes his head, Ms. Rebecca giving him a look. She stands up and goes to get some tissues for the blood and an ice pack for his face. "You can tell me, you know. If you're being bullied, Alphonse, I can help."

"It's fine," Al says quietly, looking at his shoes.

"I don't think it's fine," Ms. Rebecca tells him, turning around. She hands him the tissues and the ice pack and says, "You shouldn't, either. Nobody should be treated that way." Al shrugs and Ms. Rebecca sighs. "I'll write up those passes." I thank her and look over at Al. The ice pack is pressed up against his cheek, the blood finally all dried up on his face.

"She's right, you know," I tell him quietly. He looks up at me and I smile at him. "You've been bullied your whole life and I know you don't like it. And you stood up for yourself today which means you think people shouldn't bully you, even if it's a little part of you. So, if you think of the big kid's name, tell Ms. Hawkeye, okay?" Al nods, sniffling loudly.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees. I grin broadly and ruffle his hair.

"Good boy," I praise. "I'm proud of you." Al grins weakly and I help him wipe the dried blood off his face while Ms. Rebecca types up our passes.

Thanks to the passes, we didn't get in trouble for being late. Al didn't seem to know the name of the kid who hit him but I bet if he sees the kid again, he'd be able to recognize him. Even though he was nervous about telling a grown-up at school what happened, he did tell Ms. Hawkeye and promised to tell her if he recognized or remembered the name of the kid who hit him. I was super proud of him and made sure he knew just how proud of him I was. Anyways, Dada comes to get us at exactly 10:30 and we make it to the dentist. I'm still super anxious about the dentist. When I was a kid, I got braces after I lost my leg. The year I lost my leg, I think I regressed a little bit. I mean, I couldn't walk, but I don't know. I was peeing my pants constantly, even after getting my prosthetic, and I started to suck my thumb and carry my blanket around everywhere. Anyways, it was in that year that I told Dad that our dentist was hurting us on purpose and I had to get braces right after that. Let's just say that sucked. Ever since then, even though our new dentist is nice and has never hurt us, we're anxious that she will. I just hope all my teeth are fine and that my retainer is doing its job 'cause I really don't want my teeth worked on today.

Because of how anxious we are still about the dentist, me and Al get to go back at the same time with Dada. That's basically how all our appointments go. Dentist, Dr. Marcoh, and therapy. Well, Dad doesn't go back with us anymore for therapy but he used to. All the doctors we see know about the abuse so they all let us do appointments however we're comfortable. Anyways, Dada got us to the dentist right on time so we don't wait long. The dental assistant calls us back and I'm shaking. Dada holds the hand Al's not holding and it does make me feel better. I get up into the dentist chair and Dad makes small talk with me and Al until the dentist comes in. She starts with me, counting all my teeth and looking for cavities and shit. She doesn't find any so she looks to see if my retainer is keeping my teeth straight and continuing to fix my overbite. She tells me I'm doing a good job taking care of my teeth and the assistant starts to clean them while the dentist moves on to Al. I can hear Al whimpering, the dentist assuring him that she's not going to hurt him on purpose and it'll be over really soon. Dad holds his hand and I watch as the dentist inspects Al's mouth. She finds a cavity in one of his molars and says she can fill it today. Dada okays it and the dentist moves on. She frowns, Dad leaning forward worriedly.

"Is everything alright?" He asks.

"Your son has always had a slight overbite since I started seeing him," she begins. "It's gotten much worse in the last six months. Is he chewing on his nails or sucking his thumb?"

"Well, yes," Dad admits, Al blushing a tiny bit. "Al's always had an issue with thumb sucking, but he's being having trouble with it recently. He also does bite his nails as an anxious tick."

"Does Al gotta get braces?" I ask, our dentist nodding.

"That is what I'd recommend," she replies. "Al, have you finished losing your baby teeth?" Al shakes his head.

"N-No," Al answers nervously. "I have a couple left." The dentist nods and inspects his teeth.

"A canine in the upper right side and two molars are due to fall out soon," she comments. "Have you finished cutting your 12 year-old molars?"

"I think so," Al replies.

"Victor, I'd get him an appointment with Ed's orthodontist so you can talk about removing those last couple baby teeth and pulling the permanent ones down," she suggests. "Al needs braces and he needs them fast, particularly if he hasn't broken those habits yet. I would also suggest working harder on breaking those habits. I understand it's difficult and causes tears, but overbite and thumb sucking lead to tooth decay and tooth loss, something I know you don't want for your son. I'll write you a referral after I fix this cavity and his teeth get cleaned." Dad nods, Al slowly looking over at Dad. Al's visibly pale and I feel bad for him. Getting a cavity filled on the same day he learns he's gotta get braces is definitely not what he needed today.

"Dada," he says, his voice shaking.

"Al, honey, you're not getting braces today and I promise the filling won't hurt," Dad assures him. "Brother and I can hold your hand if you want." The dentist turns and smiles at Al.

"Don't worry," she tells him. "I'll be sure you're numb before I work on you."

"Dr. York is a good dentist, right?" I say. Al nods and I go on, "She's never hurt you before and she's not gonna start now. Promise." I slide off the dentist chair and walk over to hold Al's hand. Dr. York gets ready, talking to Al as she works,

"You've done a great job with your teeth, Al. You and your brother both have excellent brushing and flossing habits. I know that wasn't always the case so kudos, boys."

"Thank you," I say softly, kinda insulted by her brushing comment. Yeah, when we were kids we didn't brush our teeth like you're supposed to. That was 'cause she denied us privileges like bathing, going to the bathroom, eating, and having warm, clean clothes. Brushing our teeth just wasn't something we got to do growing up and we have had a hard time with keeping our teeth healthy. We've had a long history with dental problems and cavities. I know she didn't mean anything by it and was actually trying to compliment us, but it rubs me the wrong way.

"Oh, Ed," Dr. York says, sitting down on a rolling stool next to the dentist chair. "Did a softer toothbrush solve the problem you were having with bleeding gums when brushing?" I nod, crossing my arms.

"Yeah, it helped," I reply. "It doesn't hurt so bad anymore. Flossing still kinda hurts, though. I only floss at night."

"Hopefully, that'll resolve in a couple of months," she tells me. "Okay, Al, open your mouth and I'll numb you up. This won't take long at all to fill."

"Then we'll get your glasses," I chirp happily, Al grinning weakly.

"Oh, getting glasses, are we?" Dr. York asks. Al nods.

"Yeah," he replies. "I can't see far away. I want contacts, but Dada doesn't think I'm ready for them." Dr. York chuckles.

"Well, I think it's a good idea to hold off on contacts for a little while," she says. "My daughter is a little younger than you and she's had glasses for a couple years. We're waiting until she's fifteen to do contacts." Dad nods.

"I thought it was best if Al got glasses first because when he's not wearing his contacts, he'd be wearing glasses and I want him to be used to them," Dada explains.

"I can't wait to see what he looks like in them," Dr. York says, Al smiling weakly at her as she leans over to numb him up.

Al's filling didn't take very long so we got out of there in time to get lunch before going to the eye doctor. We get Panera 'cause our stomachs are feeling a bit queasy 'cause we're anxious. We can handle fast food a whole lot better than we used to. Our tummies have healed a little, but we still can't eat a lot or even eat certain foods. Like, teenagers like Taco Bell but we really don't eat it that much. It makes Al barf and makes me just feel like shit. Even stuff like McDonald's makes me sick sometimes. Al's got it way worse than me, though. He's always had a sensitive tummy, even before the abuse. When he was a baby, Al was lactose intolerant but he grew out of that by the time he was two. He's always had problems digesting food and Dr. Marcoh was worried he had celiac disease for a while. He doesn't, but being a preemie is why his whole GI system is messed up. It sucks that he has food issues and issues with peeing, but I think he'd take that over some of the other issues premature babies can get. You know, like holes in their hearts or their organs growing on the outside rather than the inside. Al could have been way worse off so he's actually pretty lucky all things considered.

We finish eating and Dada decides to buy us both a big cookie before we go. We both get M&M cookies and eat them on the way to the eye doctor. They're really good and soft and not crumbly at all. But Panera does always have good cookies and stuff. I like their brownies and bagels a lot. Sometimes Granny buys, like, a dozen bagels and gives us half. There's lots of different flavors and cream cheese so it's amazing. Plus, it's a morning me and Al don't gotta eat cereal so that's great. Anyway, we get to the building and Dad parks the car. We go inside and get checked in. While wait, I share my phone with Al. I've got Plague Inc. on my phone so we design a disease together that'll hopefully kill off the world's population. I've always liked this game. I got it on my iPad a million years ago. I've unlocked all the disease types and I got super good at killing the whole world. Just like with the dentist, we're all gonna go back together. I'll go first again so Al can see it's not scary and then he'll go. I haven't ever had issues seeing so I'm not expecting to get glasses or anything. I am planning on helping Al find the best pair we can. He's been teased so much and now that he's gotta get glasses and braces, kids might make fun of him for all those things, too. But if he gets a good pair of glasses, maybe he'll get compliments instead of getting made fun of. Al's small and he's skinny, but he's got this round face with big eyes. Dada says he's got a round nose like Mom and I know he's got really long eye lashes. Winry's complained about them before. She wishes she could have his eye lashes. Whatever. Anyway, Al's not an ugly kid and glasses and braces won't make him ugly or anything. But kids can be mean, you know?

We get called back and the exam starts with having to read that chart on the wall. You know the one – it starts with the big letter "E" and gets smaller with each line. I read down pretty far, going to the same line with each eye. After that I gotta look into a weird machine at stare at these weird pictures. They're kinda blurry, sometimes they're close and sometimes they're far away. I have to tell the doctor what the pictures are and find certain parts of the picture like a hot air balloon or a fence or a kite. When that's done, I sit in the chair and look through those huge weird glasses things you always see in the movies. The doctor finishes my exam and tells me everything looks good. My vision's great and my eyes are healthy so now it's Al's turn. He doesn't seem nervous about it like he was about the dentist so he gets right up. He starts with the chart like I did, leaning forward and squinting. The doctor shakes his head and instructs,

"Don't lean and read without squinting your uncovered eye." Al nods and starts to read;

"E, F, P, T, O, Z, L, E, D…. Uh…. D? Wait, no, that's a P. No, D. No, P. Okay. P, E, C, P? No, E. D. Um, F, O…. This line is hard."

"Okay, that's fine," the doctor tells him. "Repeat that with the other eye." Al starts to read and I lean over to Dad.

"He got lots of letters wrong," I point out in a whisper.

"He's very near sighted," Dada replies with a chuckle. "Way more than I thought, actually." I chuckle, Al struggling pretty hard to read the chart.

"Okay, let's move over here," the doctor tells Al. I briefly look at my phone before watching Al look through that weird thing that shows the pictures. The doctor asks Al all the same stuff he asked me and then Al sits down at the chair. The doctor puts those big glasses-things over Al's eyes and messes with some stuff.

"Tell me which one is clearer," the doctor instructs. He messes with the glasses and Al says,

"This one." The doctor repeats the process for a few minutes, takes a look at Al's retinas and stuff before turning on all the lights.

"Well?" Dada asks.

"He's pretty severely nearsighted," the doctor announces. "Are we interested in contacts today?" Al nods while Dad chuckles,

"No, not today. Maybe in a year or two." Al pouts a little and I grin fondly at him.

"Well, head back out to the front and pick out the frames you'd like," the doctor says. "We can actually get the glasses to him in a couple hours if you're able to pick them up today."

"When would they be available?" Dada asks.

"By closing time at the latest," the doctor answers.

"Is there any way to get them before 4:00?" Dad questions. "The boys have therapy at 4:00 and I can't guarantee we can get back here in time and poor Al can't wait for his glasses."

"I can see what we can do," the doctor says. "Go back out to the front and pick out the frames. You're eligible for two frames this visit. I'd recommend getting two pairs so he has a back-up."

"All right," Dada says. "C'mon, boys." I stand up and Al slides out of the chair. We walk out to the front, walls of empty frames surrounding us. Al looks up at Dada and Dad smiles at him. "Go ahead, honey. Pick out the two you like the best." I take Al's hand and he nods. We browse the frames and I ask,

"Anything you like?" Al shrugs.

"I don't know," he tells me. "There are so many. I don't even know where to start." I frown.

"Maybe you should try frames like Dad's," I suggest.

"Really?" Al asks. I nod.

"I know you look a lot like Mom but I think you'd look good in the square-ish frames," I say. "Let's find some and try them out, okay?" Al nods and I scan the shelves for good looking frames. I don't think Al would look good in huge hipster frames, but I don't think super small ones would look good on him, either. I try to find some moderately-sized frames while Al picks out a few that he likes.

"What do you think about these, Brother?" Al asks from behind me. I turn around, Al wearing some rectangle frames with a goofy smile on his face. They're thin, metal, black frames and I like them on him. I chuckle and nod, Al posing slightly for me.

"Yeah, Al, those are good on you," I tell him.

"They don't make my face look fat or anything?" Al asks.

"Uh, no," I reply. "I don't think anything could make you look fat. Your face is round, but so thin so, no." Al grins and spins around.

"Dada! Do you like these?" Al asks. Dad looks over and smiles broadly.

"Well, look who looks all grown up," Dada comments. "Those look great on you, honey."

"I gotta find a back-up pair, too, right?" Al asks.

"That's right," Dada says, looking over at me. "Got anything good, Ed?" I sift through the pairs of frames in my hands and narrow it down to a pair of black, rectangular, plastic frames and another wire frame in gold. I walk over to Al and hand him the frames.

"Try these," I tell him. Al takes the wire frames and looks at them, shaking his head slightly. He takes off the frames he's currently wearing and puts on the plastic ones. He looks at me and asks,

"Are these okay?"

"I like 'em," I reply. "There are plastic ones that are really big and hipster-y but these aren't super big and fit you really well."

"I agree, Al," Dada says happily. "Make sure you like the way you look in these and pick which pair you want to wear every day. The doctor said they could have your everyday pair done in an hour and your back-ups will be ready tomorrow." Al nods and hurries to a mirror. He looks at himself with the plastic ones for a minute before switching to the metal frames.

"I don't know," Al sighs. "It's weird seeing myself wear glasses."

"So, which one feels less weird?" Dad asks, walking over to him. Al switches back to the plastic ones and starts making faces at himself in the mirror. He smiles, frowns, glares, and opens his mouth really wide. Dada laughs at him and asks, "What in the world are you doing, silly boy?"

"If I'm gonna wear them every day, I gotta see how I look making lots of faces," Al replies. Dad chuckles and shakes his head.

"Goof ball," he says, Al doing the same process with the metal frames.

"Okay, I like the plastic ones the best," Al announces. "I can fall asleep in them and they won't bend as easy and I like the way I look better."

"And you want these wire frames you picked as your back-up pair?" Dada asks. Al nods.

"Yeah," he answers. "I like them both, but I like the plastic ones best." I look over at the shelves as Dad takes the glasses up to the receptionist and grin when I see a huge, dorky, round pair of frames. I quickly put them on and walk over to Al, swinging my hips a little.

"You should have gone with these," I say in a funny, French voice. Al looks over and laughs as I say, "They came straight from Pairs, darling."

"Where did you get those?" Al laughs. I point and Al cackles loudly. "They're so ugly, Ed!"

"Ugly?" I gasp. "How dare you!"

"Boys, don't get too rowdy," Dad says from the desk. I nod and put the glasses back. I walk back over to Al and see he's gotten tense. I frown and ask,

"What's the matter?" Al shakes his head and gestures to the window. I look and see Ryan Vaus staring at us both from outside the store. I glare at him, Ryan smirking at me. I flip him off, Ryan raising his eye brows at me and walking off.

"Dick," I mutter. In a small town, you're bound to run into pretty much everyone you've ever known at least once. It's just gonna happen. Resembool is small, the towns around it are bigger, but still fairly small in the grand scheme of things, so everybody goes to the same places to get the same things since Resembool doesn't have that store or whatever the situation is. I've seen kids from school at the dentist, at Wal-Mart, pretty much everywhere. It's no surprise that I'd see Ryan Vaus here, but it pisses me off 'cause he's such a dick. Now Al's all tense and anxious. He was doing really well 'cause the office has been pretty empty so he didn't feel scared. Now he does. God, I hate Ryan Vaus. Dad walks over to us and says,

"Okay, so in an hour Al's glasses will be ready. We can wait here or we can drive around. Whatever you boys want to do."

"Let's get out of here," I say. "Al's getting anxious." Dad nods and takes Al's hand.

"C'mon, sweetie," he says gently. "Let's drive until your glasses are done." Al nods and I check my phone. Winry texted me, demanding a picture of Al's glasses. I shoot her one back saying we'll have them in an hour and hurry after Dada and Al.

Dada drives long, country backroads while we listen to music. We try to get Al's mind off of his anxiety and today, that seems to be working. I think it helps that he's excited for his glasses, too. Anyways, we stop at a gas station before heading back 'cause Al has to pee. Dad gets us candy (probably not the best thing considering Al just had a cavity filled, but whatever) and we wait for Al to get done. Al comes out of the bathroom and seems really happy that Dada bought us candy. We get back in the car and drive back to the office. We all go in and the receptionist hands Dada a black glasses case. He hands it to Al and says,

"Okay, put them on." Al opens the case and takes out his new, black plastic glasses with actual lenses in them this time. He puts them on and gasps loudly, looking around the room.

"I can see!" I says happily. "I can read those signs!" He turns to me and says, "I can see your face!"

"My goodness," Dada chuckles, pulling Al into a hug and kissing his forehead. "Someone really couldn't see."

"I didn't realize how bad it actually was 'til now," Al tells us.

"Okay, I need a picture," Dada announces.

"I do, too," I add. "Winry wants one." Al nods and pulls away from Dada. He smiles, that big, goofy smile I love and Dad takes a picture. I take one and quickly send it to Winry.

"Putting that on Facebook, Dada?" I ask, putting my phone in my pocket.

"Only if it's okay with Al," Dad replies.

"I don't care," Al says. "I don't even care if you tag me in it or not."

"What's tag you in it?" Dada asks and I laugh at him. He looks at me and asks, "What?"

"That's when you click on people in the picture and tell Facebook they're in it," I explain, still laughing. "Or you can type their name and link it to their profile and tag them that way. I tag you in stuff all the time."

"Oh, that's what that is," Dada says, Al giggling at him. He smiles weakly and says, "C'mon, boys. Let's get going. We need to get to Dr. Hughes' office." We both nod and my phone goes off as we walk to the car. I check it and Winry's texted me back.

"Hey, Al," I say.

"Yeah?" Al asks.

"Winry likes them," I tell him. "You chose well."

"Thanks," Al replies happily, Dada playing more music as we drive to therapy.


	57. Breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed talks about something that he's been alluding to for chapters. Seems to be a running theme in this story.

Dada picked up Al's second pair of glasses yesterday while we were in school. Al went to the shelter with Mei and I talked to Ms. Hawkeye about that tutoring thing. I'm going to tutor every other Tuesday so I can still go to family therapy and tutor every other Thursday so I can still go to a couple science club meetings. Basically, the way the schedule is made one week I tutor on Tuesday and the next week I tutor on Thursday. According to Ms. Hawkeye, they need me the rest of the school year, but I only gotta do it the month of March to stay out of trouble. If I wanna, I can keep doing it, though. I'm kinda scared, but I hope I like it. Ever since Al started volunteering with Mei at the shelter, I've sorta wanted to volunteer, too. Volunteering has given Al a safe place to work through his anxiety and be able to do things he wants to do, even when he's anxious. Plus, volunteering makes Al feel useful and I've noticed that he feels grown-up. It's been so good for him so I've been thinking that maybe it'd be good for me, too. This whole tutoring-thing is gonna be, like, a trial run for me. If it goes well, maybe I could keep doing that and find another opportunity. River clean up with the science club sounds neat but lately Rose has been talking about the crisis pregnancy center in town. They help young moms in tough spots get the stuff and resources they need for having a baby. Apparently, they also make tie-blankets for little NICU babies and since Al spent a few months there, I'm kinda connected to it. I mean, the NICU did sorta keep Al alive so I like the idea of helping out those little babies. It just seems like a super cool thing to do so I'd like to volunteer there eventually.

It's late, but I can't sleep. It's group day tomorrow and, well, it's kind of a big one. Tomorrow after I talk a little about how she set a fire in Dad's room and blamed me for it, it's time to talk about the day Al told Winry she abused us. I don't think I've ever really talked about it. At least, not the way I'm going to tomorrow. I've given Dad the abridged version and assured Al countless times that what he did was the right thing to do, but that's about it. I sigh, mindlessly scrolling through my phone in bed. After tomorrow, there's not much story left. Hell, I might even get through the whole thing tomorrow. What will I do after that? I guess I could talk about things that are going on right now, but I don't know. Isn't that what therapy with Dr. Hughes and family therapy with Dr. Bergmann is for? Maybe there are things I can talk about with the kids that I can't talk about with grown-ups. But Dr. Hughes is there for group so there really isn't anything I could talk about with just the kids. And what would I even talk about? I've pretty much spilled my guts to them over the last several months. They know more about the abuse than Dada or Winry combined. Hell, most of them know more than most of my friends. Lan Fan, Paninya, and Rose don't even know. I haven't told them anything yet. All they know is that me and Al have nightmares and wet the bed. But that happens to lots of people. Well, the nightmares part. Not a lot of teenagers still wet the bed. We're kind of in the 1% range there. But I haven't told them that me and Al were abused and they're my friends. I just don't know how to tell them. How would I even start that conversation? I really don't know.

Sometimes I don't like having a phone 'cause when I'm up late at night I have something to do that won't wake Al up and I know what time it is. It's one thirty in the morning. We have to get up at six thirty. I groan softly and roll over. I put my phone on the nightstand and try to sleep. Maybe Dada will let me sleep in until seven. He does that sometimes. School starts at eight fifteen but Dad sometimes takes us early when he's got an eight thirty class. When he's got a seven thirty, well, he drops us off at Winry's. He hasn't taught a seven thirty class in a couple of years. He couldn't get out of the seven thirty biochem the fall after the abuse ended. But back then, I was the only one going to school. Al was homeschooled by Teacher. Granny helped sometimes, too. If Al was feeling well enough, Dada would drop him off at Teacher's house but if he wasn't getting up out of bed, Teacher would come over to our house. By the end of the school day, Teacher would usually have him up and dressed which was super cool. That's not something I'm gonna talk about with the group. I'm not gonna talk about how terrible the summer after the abuse ended was for poor Al. That's not my place. If he wants to talk about it after the main story ends, fine, but I'm not gonna do it. It's his story to tell and I'm not gonna take that away from him.

Al's sleeping next to me again tonight. He tried to sleep in his own bed, he really did, but he got to freaked out by himself. He told me he just keeps thinking about his bad touch and gets scared. Admitting it happened really increased the amount of time he thinks about it. I guess that makes sense. If you draw attention to something, like a memory or whatever, I guess you would think about it more in general. That's what happened to Al. It's all he can think about sometimes. I sigh and roll over to face him. He's sleeping so I hug him without waking him up. I cuddle up close, his warm body calming me down a bit. I close my eyes, trying to fall asleep, when Al jerks away suddenly. He whimpers loudly and I sit up. He's trashing around and I know he's having a bad dream. I quickly get out of bed before the pee starts and walk to the other side. I wanna be ready when it's over. Dad will make his way in after the alarm or the screaming starts. I wanna have Al semi-calm by then so all Dada has to do is strip my bed and maybe help me with Al if he's not changing himself. Al screams wordlessly, my alarm starting to go off. It's annoying to listen to so I shut it off, knowing Dad will be awake soon. I watch as Al suffers through the nightmare and he suddenly sits right up, screaming. I stand up and he's clearly watching me out of the corner of his eye. He's tense, his chin quivering as I get close.

"Hey," I say gently. Al finches at the sound and wiggles away from me. I frown and get closer, Al screaming again and pushing me. It startled me so I fall backward, Al crashing loudly out of bed and crawling under it.

"Damn it," I mutter, annoyed a little. I sit up, wondering if I should just get Dad so he can deal with this shit. I kinda want to move out of this room. Al can't sleep so I can't sleep. I'm getting sick and tired of him waking me up night after night 'cause he pissed in bed or had a nightmare. I stand up, Al crying from under the bed. I roll my eyes and cross my arms.

"Shut up!" I snap. "I'm gonna go get Dad." Al whimpers and pokes his head out a little. His nose is bleeding. I guess he fell on his face. His lip trembles and I suddenly feel really guilty. I shouldn't snap at him. I know this isn't his fault. I also really don't wanna move out of our room. I need Al just as much as he needs me. I'm just crabby 'cause I wasn't sleeping before the nightmare.

"D-Daddy?" Al whimpers. I shake my head and squat down in front of him.

"No, buddy," I say gently. "It's Ed."

"Brother!" Al cries, quickly crawling out from under the bed and hugging me. I'm a little taken a back but I hug him back and scratch his back as Al starts sobbing.

"What's the matter?" I ask softly.

"Y-You're okay!" Al wails. "I w-w-w-was s-so sc-scared!"

"Of course I'm okay," I tell him. "It was just a dream, Al. The scary stuff's gone and you're safe. We're both safe." Al clings on to me, sobbing loudly. He crawls up into my lap and I hold him close. "It's okay, Al. I got you." I whimper, feeling really guilty for snapping at him. I have nightmares just as much as he does. Al never gets angry with me. Al never thinks about having his own room so he could sleep better. God, I can be such a douche bag sometimes. I lower my face into his shoulder and sniffle loudly.

"I'm sorry, Al," I whisper. Al's crying really hard and I can feel his stomach freak out as he clings to me. He might be throwing up soon. I know Al doesn't want to barf 'cause he's already cold and miserable and throwing up would only make him feel worse.

"Boys," Dada whispers, slipping inside. I look up at him and he walks over. He kneels down and asks, "Everything okay?" I shake my head.

"I don't know," I reply, feeling the word vomit rise up in me. "I was having trouble sleeping and just played on my phone and never could fall asleep so I was really crabby when Al started having a bad dream. He was scared and pushed me and it made me mad and I'm such a douche bag 'cause I started thinking about getting my own room so Al couldn't wake me up all the time but the thing is I have just as much trouble sleeping as he does and I snapped at him when he needed me and –"

"Edward, honey, it's okay," Dad assures me. "Getting frustrated is normal. It's late and you weren't sleeping so it's normal to be cranky."

"He had a real bad dream, Dada," I tell him. "And he thought I was you." Dad looks away for a second. After the abuse ended, Al used to call me 'dad' sometimes when he was sleepy or after a bad dream. When we were little kids, I definitely did more dad-things with Al than Dada did. It really hurt Dad's feelings, I think. When I was thirteen, I told Dad that I was more like Al's daddy than he was. I know that hurt Dada's feelings. He wasn't mad at me or anything but he didn't like to hear that. I really didn't mean anything by it and it was true. Growing up, I was more like Al's dad than Dad was. I guess that can't be fun to hear, though. I mean, I know I'd feel really shitty if one of my kids constantly said that they were more like a dad to their sibling than I was. Dad shakes his head and smiles at me.

"Well, we do look a lot alike, don't we, Ed?" Dada asks weakly.

"Dada, I'm sorry," I apologize.

"Sweetie, it's not your fault," he tells me. "I shouldn't be so sensitive about it." I look away guiltily, still rubbing Al's back. He's still crying loudly so I start to rock him back and forth.

"Dada, he's soaked," I say softly.

"I figured," Dad replies, patting my head. "Let's see if we can get him calm, okay?" I nod, Al crying really hard.

"Alphie, you need to breathe before you throw up," I tell him gently. "In through your nose, out through your mouth, okay?" Al just keeps crying and I look up at Dada. "He doesn't have Chico."

"Okay, hold on," Dad says, standing up. He goes over to my bed and I just keep rocking Al.

"C'mon, buddy," I encourage. "You can do it. It's okay. Everything's okay."

"Sh-She got you!" Al wails loudly. "Sh-She h-hurt you r-r-really b-b-bad!" I rub his back and hug him tighter.

"I'm right here, Al," I say softly. "Nobody hurt me. I'm safe. You're safe. She can't hurt you and me anymore."

"Ed, I brought Chico," Dad tells me, kneeling down next to me. I take the cat and hand it to Al.

"Al, you want Daddy?" I ask. Al shakes his head and clings to me. I frown and ask, "Are you sure?" Al shakes his head again and hides his face in my shoulder. He's still sobbing and I look over at Dad.

"I'm sorry," I say. "He only wants me."

"Ed, it's okay," Dad assures me. "I'll go strip your bed and clean the mattress. It's okay that he doesn't want me right now. He probably just wants to feel safe and moving around wouldn't be productive right now. I'll just go take care of the bed while you focus on him, okay?" I nod.

"Yeah, okay," I reply. Dad stands and I do feel bad that Al doesn't want him. I mean, I know I get butt-hurt sometimes when Dada calms him down or holds him when he's scared but c'mon on – it's Dada. Dad should be the one to do those things 'cause, well, he's our dad and he loves us. And Dad actually wants to do those things. He always has, ever since we were little. He didn't always really know how and could be awkward, but he always tried and always wanted to hold us and make us feel safe. I know Dada understands why Al sometimes just wants me but still. I feel bad about it. I don't know.

"Ed, I'll be right back," Dad calls from the door. I nod and he leaves, Al clinging on to me and crying his eyes out.

"Your dream must have been really scary, huh?" I ask him gently. I feel him nod so I somehow manage to hug him tighter. "I know you're scared but I'm right here. Nothing bad'll happen to you when I'm with you. I'll keep you safe."

"Wh-Who's gonna keep you s-s-safe?" Al whimpers, still crying.

"You," I reply warmly. "You will, okay? You're good at it. You know martial arts and you can keep me safe. And when you can't, Dada will." I feel Al nod again and his sobbing has quieted down. He's got Chico but I know he's sucking his thumb. I rub his back, Al finally starting to calm down.

"Good job," I praise. "Good job. All better, see?" Al nods again and I keep hugging him tight.

"I love you," Al says softly. I kiss the top of his head and nod.  
"I love you, too," I reply. I can hear Dada come back in so I look up at him.

"How's he doing?" Dada asks, squatting down next to me.

"Better," I tell him.

"Al," Dad says gently, "Are you ready to get dressed?" Al shakes his head and I frown.

"C'mon, Al," I encourage. "It's okay. Daddy's here and he just wants to help."

"Daddy?" Al asks softly.

"I'm right here, honey," Dada answers. "It's okay. I'm not upset with you, sweetie. I just want to get you in clean jammies so you can go back to sleep."

"I wanna sleep with you, Dada," Al whimpers. "I'm scared."

"That's fine, honey," Dad says. "You both can sleep with me if you want. Now, let go of Brother, okay?" Al whimpers but lets go. He crawls over to Dada, cuddling up into his lap. Dad holds him tight, rubbing his back. Al starts crying again and I inch closer. I sit next to them for a few minutes, Al's crying getting softer as Dada calms him down.

"It must have been a really bad dream," I say softly after a while, hugging my knees to my chest.

"I guess so," Dada agrees. Al's not crying anymore but he is clinging to him for dear life.

"Dada," I address, my voice shaking.

"What, Ed?" Dada asks, petting Al's hair.

"I don't wanna have my own room," I tell him. "I wanna stay with Al."

"I know, sweetheart," Dad replies.

"I don't wanna move out of the house," I say, staring my knees.

"Where did that come from?" Dada asks.

"I'm going to college in a couple years," I explain. "I don't think I wanna go. I don't think I'll be ready to go." I sniffle loudly and go on, "Going to college means moving out and I don't wanna do that. Not ever."

"Edward," Dad sighs. "Look at me." I shake my head, my chin quivering. "Ed, look at me." I cringe and look over, Dada smiling at me. "Honey, I know you're not ready to go to college yet. You're barely sixteen. I know it's scary to think about going away to college and not living with me and Al anymore. But, sweetie, you don't have to move way to go to college. There are plenty of four-year colleges around this area you can commute to. I commuted to and from the U of I after your mother and I got married and moved here. And you know what? You don't even have to go to college, Ed. You can go to trade school or get a job right out of high school. But that's not happening for a while so you don't need to worry about it."

"But…. But what if I can't do any of those things?" I ask miserably. "I can't even go to the movies or hang out with my friends. I can't sleep over with my friends or even participate in the club I'm in. What if when it's time to graduate, I can't go to college or get a job? What if I can't actually grow up?"

"Honey," Dad says. "Ed, you will."

"How do you know?" I ask.

"Because you've never been one to stand still," Dad tells me. "You've always been stubborn and even when things are rough you still manage to move forward. You're so strong willed and I admire you so much for that. Even if you can't go right away, you're not going to just live in this house your whole life. You'll go to college or get a job or do something after you graduate, I promise. You both will. It might take you a little longer than your friends, but you'll get there." I wipe my face and put my head on his arm.

"Thanks, Daddy," I say quietly. Dada kisses my head, Al squirming a little.

"What, Al?" Dad asks gently.

"What do you think Ed's gonna be when he grows up?" Al asks, pulling away from Dada. His voice is hoarse from all the crying and there's a thumb in his mouth. Dada smiles at him and kisses his forehead.

"I think Ed can be whatever he wants," Dad answers. Al stares up at him, clearly wanting an answer so Dad says, "But maybe Ed'll go into chemical engineering or medical science. He'd be good at it. What about you, Alphie? What do you want to do when you grow up?"

"I wanna be a nurse," Al answers instantly. "Maybe a nurse practitioner. I wanna work in mental health and focus on kids."

"My goodness," Dada chuckles. "You've thought a lot about it, huh?" Al nods, yawning loudly. "Okay, c'mon boys. Let's go to bed." I nod and stand up. Dad picks Al up and whispers to me that he's gonna help Al get changed. I go and grab Lamby from my bed, leave my phone on my nightstand, and hurry to Dad's room. I crawl into Dad's big bed and lie down, falling asleep way before Dada and Al get there.

I've been fighting sleep all day. I've missed a lot of school this year and I took a mental health day recently so I couldn't stay home. Granted, once I was asleep I stayed asleep (rare, I know) but that doesn't make up for the fact that I was up almost half the night for one reason or another. It's Wednesday, though, so as soon as the bell rings I'll go to group. I'm really not looking forward to today's topic. Kinda like the chain, the basement, and the fence, the day Al and I went to Winry's and Al told Winry everything isn't something we've exactly talked a lot about. That day, while it did basically save our lives, is one of the scariest days of my whole life. I was terrified that nobody would believe us and that Dad would just abandon us. Dad was really mad the day Al told his first grade teacher – like, really mad. I've never seen Dada that mad every again. I know he was angry when he learned the truth, but he was never angry around me and Al. He kept it to himself probably so me and Al wouldn't think he was mad at us. All I could think about that day was how angry Dad got when Al told the truth when he was in first grade and was terrified that he would get angry again. I was petrified that us telling the truth would be the final nail in the coffin and Dada would hate us. Thankfully that's not what happened and now that I'm separated from the situation a bit more I sorta doubt Dad could ever really hate us, but the fear was real. So, I never want to talk about Al telling Winry and I'm really not looking forward to telling that story today.

School ends and Dad picks us up from school. He drives us to the office building and asks me if I want him to stay. He's been doing that a lot lately. I'm glad he's coming to group and I like that he asks if I need him to come with us. He seems really interested in our recovery, like really interested, for the first time. For the last couple years, it felt like Dada just wanted us to get better as fast as possible. In some ways, I think he still does. I know he hates seeing us the way we are. I know it makes him sad and he wants us to just be happy and normal. But lately…. I don't know. It just feels like he's really trying to be more understanding and involved in our recovery. I don't know. It's weird and it's different. It's mostly weird. But I do like it. Anyways, I tell him that I want him to stay. Today is gonna be hard. Last week was hard, too, but this is hard in a different way. While the fence is terrible and I hate it, I've actually talked about it more than I've talked about this. I kinda have to talk about the fence sometimes 'cause I dream about it all the time and the fence did cost me my leg. This…. This is the end to seven years of abuse. This was the reason me and Al had to spend time in foster care. This is the event that both tore my family apart and saved my family at the same time. So, I need him to be with me. I don't know if me and Al could make it through the story without him.

Dada walks in with us and we find our normal seats. Like most weeks, Dr. Hughes comes over to talk with us. I'm sort of listening, but I'm mostly scanning the room. I wanna see if Nicole and Hannah are here. Nicole didn't show last week – a blessing if you ask me – and Hannah left really angrily last week. It'd be great if they just stopped showing up. Sure, Hannah knows a lot about my life but I feel like if she was gonna talk, she would have done it already. Since she hasn't spread stuff around, I sort of doubt she's ever gonna. It'd be nice if they just stopped coming. I look around, my heart sinking when I see they're both here. Hannah's got her arms crossed and she's glaring at me. I shiver and sink into Dada's frame. Dad's still talking to Dr. Hughes but he does give me an awkward side hug. They talk for a few more minutes before Dr. Hughes decides it's time to start the group. My eyes are glued to Hannah and Nicole, both of them staring me down. I whimper, Dada kissing my forehead as Dr. Hughes says,

"Okay, let's get started. We have Ed and Al's dad with us again today and he'll leave after Ed's story." Dr. Hughes turns to me and asks, "Ready?" I nod, set my watch, and take a deep breath;

"Nothing much changed after I lost my leg. Outside of when Vanessa set a fire in Dada's room and blamed me, she was doing the same old stuff she had been doing. I guess she set that fire to try and get a rise out of Dad. And yeah, he grounded me and while I didn't manage to convince him it wasn't me, I did manage to convince him that it was an accident. That happened when I was ten, a few months after I lost my leg. After that, it was playing house, the cleaning games, the basement, and lots of beatings. We were kicked, burned, punched and starved more and more as the years went on. The spring when I was in seventh grade, Dad was gone a lot – I mean a lot. He'd be home for a week and gone for three. That was the pattern that spring. In early May, three weeks before Al's twelfth birthday, Dada had been gone since mid-April. He was going to be back Saturday May 11 in the evening. Vanessa wasn't beating us too much that week 'cause we had to heal but she was really annoyed with us. We did have a lot of nasty, healing wounds, though. Big, painful bruises all over our bodies, burns, and cuts everywhere. That's why she had to lay off so soon before Dada was due home from Chicago. If she beat us the way she had been, we wouldn't be healed by the time Dad would be home and he'd figure it out.

"That Friday night, she was going to shove us off on Granny and Winry so we'd be out of her hair. That afternoon, we packed after school and walked to Granny's since Vanessa wasn't going to drive us. Al was really quiet that day. He was shaking and absolutely covered in bruises. Vanessa had been particularly rough recently and it showed. Al was doubled over and I felt really guilty. I wasn't protecting him like I wanted to and he suffered because of it. I remember thinking Al was off somehow, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I guessed that maybe he didn't want to sleep over at Winry's and would rather stay at Teacher's. But Vanessa had blocked our ability to see Teacher recently because of how close Teacher was to figuring everything out and being able to do something about it. Like, we stopped taking martial arts with her that winter 'cause Vanessa lied and told Dada that Teacher was now wanting payment. She said it was ridiculously high so we had to stop seeing her. We'd sneak out to see her a lot, but always got dragged back home. I figured Al wanted to sleep over at Teacher's because she knew that we had bad dreams and still wet the bed while Winry or Granny really didn't. I was thinking he didn't want those things to happen and have Winry learn those things that way.

"We made it to their house and Winry let us in. She was super excited about the sleep over, excitedly talking about how Granny wouldn't be home until after dinner and gave us money to order whatever we wanted. She went on and on about the stuff we could do and I remember just sort of staring at Al the whole time. I already knew something was on his mind, but I was beginning to suspect it was bigger than I initially thought. It went deeper than not wanting Winry to know something. I wasn't sure why, but I had a nasty suspicion that Al was at his breaking point. He was constantly shaking, his lip trembling every couple seconds. He was whimpering softly and fearfully glancing around like he was looking for something. Or someone. That scared me. I didn't know what was going on inside of Al's head. I didn't know if he was planning on doing something or telling Winry things that she wasn't supposed to know. I didn't know if he was just going to have a meltdown. I didn't know and it scared me. We both knew the consequences for telling the truth. We both knew it meant beatings, Dada getting angry, and potentially ripping our family apart. If we told and Dada left or they got divorced, we knew it would be our fault. But was we sat there with Winry in her living room, I was terrified that Al was going to tell her everything.

"'What do you guys wanna do?' Winry asked excitedly. 'We could go outside! It's been so nice the last couple of days. And before you complain, Ed, it's not baby-ish. Besides, Al's still little and I know he likes to go outside and play.'

'Al doesn't want to do that right now,' I blurted. Winry's face fell.

'Oh,' she sighed, looking away. Her brow furrowed a couple seconds later and she looked at me. 'How do you know that? Al didn't say anything.'

'He doesn't feel good,' I said, not sure if I was lying or not. I was honestly trying to keep Al's mouth shut 'cause I wasn't sure what he'd say if he said stuff. Winry looked upset but I didn't know what to say to her. I couldn't tell her the truth but I couldn't do much else, either.

'Did you guys even want to come over or did your step-mom force you?' Winry asked, dejected. 'I know you hang out mostly with her and your teacher now. Do you even still like me?'

'Yeah!' I cried, my heart beating frantically. 'Of course! It's just….' I trialed off, not knowing what to say or how to say it. I really was at a loss. I couldn't explain why we didn't come over to play with her anymore without explaining literally everything else. I couldn't say anything.

'I'll call your step-mom and tell her to come get you since Al's sick,' Winry said, dejected, and stood up. I licked my lips, about to protest, when Al grabbed her arm. Winry paused and looked down at him. He was pale and shaky. He looked like he was about to lose it at any moment. Winry blinked and asked, 'Are you okay? Are you gonna throw up?'

'I'm not going back there,' Al told her, his voice shaking. Winry frowned and I cut in,

'Shut up, Al!' Winry looked confused as Al yelled back,

'No! I'm not going back!' He started to cry and I stood up.

'He's a liar!' I said frantically. 'Al tells lies. Don't listen to him!' Winry glared at me and I shrunk away from her.

'Al's not a liar,' she defended heatedly. 'I hate that your step-mom says that about you.' I stared at Winry before looking over at Al. His face was pale white and I could tell he was very close to telling Winry everything. That was obviously a problem as Vanessa had drilled in our heads that the abuse was a secret and we weren't supposed to tell anyone. I didn't want to risk our secret getting told, even if in the long run it would end the abuse. I didn't know what else would happen if the truth was told and honestly, I was scared that not only would Vanessa be removed from our lives, but Dada as well. I just wasn't willing to risk that. I hurried over, about to tackle Al so he couldn't talk, but he was already saying;

'She hits us.' I froze, Al letting go of Winry's arm. He was breaking down, incoherently talking about everything Vanessa did to us. Winry stood stunned, her eyes wide as Al broke down.

'Oh, no,' I whimpered, my chin quivering as I started to shake.

'H-H-Hits Br-Brother w-w-with a chain!" Al wailed, Winry gasping loudly. She turned to me and asked,

'Is that true?' Her voice was frantic. It was clear she didn't know what to think. It was also clear that she believed Al. I shrugged weakly, sniffling loudly as I fought tears.

'You said Al's not a liar,' I replied, Winry covering her mouth with her hands.

'Oh, my God,' she breathed, her voice wavering. She sat down next to Al who was still sobbing and revealing details of abuse. Everything came out of him in a huge, jumbled, disjointed mess. It was out of order and hard to understand, but he told Winry everything.

'A-And we g-g-get locked in our r-r-room at night an-and sh-sh-she c-c-calls us names and m-makes f-f-fun of D-Daddy and b-burns us and n-n-n-never l-lets us eat and I d-d-don't want t-t-to live with her an-anymore!' Al cried, his lungs barely working. Winry just sat there, her hands covering her mouth.

'She…. She hits you.' Winry stated simply and I nodded. 'Oh, my God, she hits you!' Winry stood up suddenly and said, 'Granny was right! She was always calling someone and I just thought you were having a hard time adjusting but…. She hits you.' Winry started pacing as Al continued to meltdown and asked me, 'How long?'

'S-Seven years,' I answered truthfully. 'I w-was six and Al wasn't f-five yet.'

'I gotta call Granny,' Winry said suddenly.

'You can't!' I yelled. 'We'll get in trouble! We'll get in trouble!'

'You think I can just let you go home to that, Edward?!' Winry cried.

'W-Winry,' Al sobbed, 'Sh-She'll h-hurt you, too!'

'What are you talking about, Al?!' Winry demanded frantically.

'Sh-She always s-s-says if w-we t-t-tell she'll hurt us a-and wh-whoever we t-tell," Al explained. 'I-I sh-shouldn't of t-t-told you!' Winry's lip trembled and she shook her head.

'And then what?' She asked miserably. 'You just go home and she keeps hurting you and making fun of Uncle Victor behind his back and threatening you? She just gets to keep controlling your lives? I can't let you go back to that, Al! I'm glad you told me! Now I can do something about it!'

'No one's gonna believe us,' I told her bluntly. 'Remember when Al told a teacher that Vanessa hurt us and no one believed him? That's just gonna happen again.'

'You don't know that,' Winry insisted. 'I can't just let you guys go back to that! I'm not just gonna sit by and allow her to hurt you anymore!' Al was still sobbing and I stared at my feet. I did sort of want Winry to see it through and call someone that might be able to help us. But I was scared that we wouldn't be believed. I was scared she'd call and Vanessa would get out of it – again. Winry started at me, tears starting to run down her face.

'I'm sorry,' she cried miserably. 'I'm so sorry! I had no idea!'

'Winry,' I said, not really sure how to follow it up. Winry wiped her face and looked at me seriously.

'I'm not calling Granny,' she announced. I blinked and she said, 'I'm calling the police.'

'P-Police?' I questioned nervously. Winry nodded.

'They can help,' she said. 'They can help more than Granny can. Vanessa's at your house, right?' I glanced over at Al who was still crying. I wasn't really sure what to do or say. I was pretty convinced that the police wouldn't be able to help as they had been tricked by Vanessa before. Then again, I hadn't eaten since mid-April and even though I really did believe I was a bad boy, I knew Al wasn't and I was getting sick of being beaten all the time. Winry stared at me until I nodded slightly. Winry hurried to the phone and dialed, someone banging on the door. Al and I instantly froze up, Winry lowering the phone as the lady on the line anxiously said,

'Hello? Little girl?'

'Winry, be a dear and let me in.' Winry's eyes widened, realizing what me and Al already knew. Vanessa was here.

'Why is she here?' Winry whispered harshly. I shook my head, whimpering loudly.

'I-I d-d-don't know," I stuttered. 'Sh-She s-s-said w-w-we could sleep over. She s-s-said so.' Winry frowned, beginning to shake as Vanessa continued to bang on the door.

'Winry, the boys knew they weren't supposed to come over. Let me in so I can take them home.' Winry whimpered and held the phone up to her ear.

'My…. My friends are being abused by their step-mom and she's at my house,' Winry whispered into the phone. Vanessa pounded on the door again, starting to get angry as Winry refused to open the door. 'Wh-What sh-should I do?' Winry asked frantically.

'Alphonse. Alphonse, come be a good boy and let me in the house. Come do something right for a change and let me in.' Winry quickly looked over at Al and shook her head.

'Don't,' she whispered. 'Don't listen to her. The police are on their way.'

'Edward, if your brother won't I need you to be a good boy. It would make your dad happy if you listened to me. That's all he wants, right? For us to be a family? Don't ruin your chance to be a family. Don't destroy this family.' I swallowed nervously. Our family was about to get completely destroyed by this. For better or for worse, the police coming and confronting Vanessa and interviewing us was going to change everything about our family. No matter what happened, nothing would ever be the same and this was going to destroy our family as we knew it. I did sort of want to open the door and let her in when Vanessa said,

'Well, since neither of you are willing to behave, it's a good thing Victor has a key to this house for emergencies.' Winry backed into the wall, clutching the phone to her ear.

'Sh-She's coming inside!' Winry told the dispatcher frantically. 'What should we do?' Al slowly got off the couch, walking over to Winry. He stood in front of her, the door opening as I hurried over to stand with them. I was hyperventilating, Winry staring down the hallway, clearly frozen in fear. Vanessa walked down the hallway, smiling at us as Winry held on to the phone.

'Let's go, boys,' Vanessa instructed roughly. 'We're leaving. You weren't supposed to leave the house. If you come with me and don't throw a fit, I won't tell your father. We can just put this behind us. Sound good?' I whimpered, Al continuing to get in front of Winry. Vanessa smirked and said, 'Oh, now that's cute. What are you gonna do, Alphonse? Throw up on me until I leave? Pee your pants? C'mon, you little brat. Knock it off.' Al bravely shook his head, refusing to move. Vanessa's face twisted angrily and she grabbed Al by the hair. Winry screamed and I hurried over, Vanessa shoving me down.

'Stupid little shit,' Vanessa hissed. 'When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?' Al was shaking violently, whimpering loudly but he shook his head, a very serious look on his face.

'Y-You're done messing with me and Brother,' Al told her, his voice shaking. Winry peaked out from behind him, Vanessa snickering.

'See this, Winry?' She asked, laughing a little. 'He can't even see me without pissing his pants! Is this really someone you want as a friend? He's a rotten little boy, good for nothing and will amount to nothing. They both are. And now Al's gonna get what's coming to him. He knows better than to disobey me.' Winry's eyes widened, Vanessa preparing to hit Al. Al tensed up, preparing to get hit, when Winry gasped loudly.

'Mrs. Elric, let the boy go and put your hands up.' I frantically looked over, the police cautiously entering the house. The man in front was tall and muscular with dark hair and dark eyes. All the officers had guns and there were about four officers in the house. Vanessa, still holding on to Al's hair, slowly turned around to face the police officers.

'Officer Mustang,' she greeted the man with dark hair cheerfully, Al struggling a little. I saw her tug on his hair a little, Al whimpering loudly. 'Good to see you.'

'Release the boy,' Officer Mustang repeated, a little more forcefully than the last time.

'I'm just taking my step-sons home,' Vanessa told him calmly, though she hadn't let go of Al. I was heaving, Officer Mustang pointing a gun and Vanessa. Was she gonna get shot? I had no idea. 'Let's not make a scene of this.'

'Release the boy,' Officer Mustang said a third time. I couldn't see Vanessa's face, but I'm sure she was ticked off. I watched her throw Al down, Al crawling toward me.

'Are you seriously going to arrest me?' Vanessa questioned. 'I'm just trying to parent these rotten boys.' I looked fearfully up at Officer Mustang who made brief eye contact with me. Even though I was scared of destroying the family and all that, I was pleading with him to take her away. I didn't want to be abused anymore. Damn the family, I remember thinking. Al was my family and I wanted the abuse to end so he'd be safe. Officer Mustang nodded at me as Vanessa said, 'I don't know what these kids said when they called but I assure you they're all lies. Alphonse has lied about abuse before, Roy.'

'Ma'am, it's come to our attention that these boys didn't lie about what was going on,' Officer Mustang replied. 'Miss Rockbell was very distressed on the phone and the way you were just handling your step-son leads me to believe you have been abusing them for quite some time.' Officer Mustang gestured to the officers behind him and continued, 'So, yes, Mrs. Elric, we are arresting you. You are under arrest for child abuse and neglect. I'm sure the court will be a bit more detailed with you.' I was expecting Vanessa to run or try to talk her way out of it. Instead, she just allowed them to cuff her. Officer Mustang basically had to drag her at first as she was unwilling to walk, but eventually she was walking on her own.

'See you in a few days, boys,' she mocked loudly as Officer Mustang walked her half way down the hallway. He stopped to talk with an officer in the hallway before turning around and walking over to us. He put his gun away and squatted down in front of me, Al, and Winry.

'Did she hurt any of you in the last half hour or so?' Officer Mustang asked. All three of us shook our heads and he turned his head so he could speak into his radio; 'This is Mustang. We need an ambulance dispatched to 1899 Central Court.' He turned to face us and said, 'Boys, I'm Officer Roy Mustang. I'm here to help, but I can only help as long as you do your best to cooperate and talk to me.'

'Why is an ambulance coming?' Winry asked frantically.

'Your friends are hurt and need to be evaluated by a doctor,' Officer Mustang explained calmly.

'What about Dad?' I blurted. 'You're not gonna arrest him, too, are you?'

'Well, that's where you come in,' Officer Mustang told me. 'I've got someone on the phone with the Chicago police right now, prepared to arrest him if you tell me he ever hit you or knew about your step-mom hitting you. If he hasn't, the police will call him and explain what's going on.'

'Dada doesn't hit us,' I said hoarsely, my lip trembling. 'Please don't take Dada away!'

'Okay, okay,' Officer Mustang said, 'It's okay. Dada isn't going anywhere. I believe you. If you say your daddy didn't know or never hurt you, then your daddy's not in trouble.' Al started crying, overwhelmed with everything that was going on. Officer Mustang looked behind him, an officer walking in with two stuffed dogs. She handed them to Officer Mustang and asked,

'What should we tell Chicago?'

'Tell them to call Mr. Elric and inform him of the situation,' Officer Mustang answered. 'From what I can tell, Ross, their dad was in the dark and was never abusive. But, social services will be getting involved to make sure. I'm sure they'll be very suspicious of him and I know how abused kids work. They might be trying to cover it up to limit the damage to their family.' Officer Ross nodded and walked out and Officer Mustang looked back at us.

'You s-s-said you b-believed me,' I said miserably.

'And I do, but it's my job to make sure you're safe, that's all,' Officer Mustang explained. 'You boys have been telling the truth for a long time so I'm sure you're telling the truth now. I just don't want to risk leaving you boys in your daddy's custody if your daddy is abusive.' I was eyeing the stuffed dogs so Officer Mustang held them out to me. 'Do you and your brother want one?' I nodded, forgetting Winry was behind me, and grabbed one. It's ear automatically went into my mouth and I started sucking on it. Officer Mustang gave one to Al and stood up.

'Miss Rockbell, we've called your grandmother. She'll be home soon.' Officer Mustang told her.

'Can I stay with Ed and Al?' Winry asked. 'Uncle Victor isn't home and they'll be alone.' Officer Mustang shook his head.

'I don't believe that's appropriate,' he replied. He stared down at me and Al and we were both still shaking and in disbelief. We couldn't believe that Vanessa actually got arrested. I was scared that it wouldn't stick and I was terrified of Dad's reaction if and when we got to see him. I cautiously looked up at Officer Mustang, sirens blaring from outside.

'Are you taking us away?' I asked, the dog ear in my mouth.

'I'm taking you boys to the hospital,' Officer Mustang told me.

'Is Daddy gonna be there?' Al whimpered from behind me.

'He'll meet you there more than likely but I can't speak for what happens after that,' Officer Mustang said. 'Let's go, boys.' I stood up on my shaking legs, messing with my shirt a little.

'I gotta go pee,' I announced.

'Buddy, you can't for a little while,' Officer Mustang told me, getting on to my level. 'The doctors will want to look at you first and with assault victims, it can take a little while before you can change your clothes or go potty. Try to be patient, okay? I know this is scary and weird.'  
'W-Will you st-stay with Al and me?' I asked.

'I'll try,' Officer Mustang assured me. 'I know you're both scared and want someone to stay with you.' Al tugged on my shirt and I helped him onto my back. Winry watched as I cautiously inched toward Officer Mustang and I reached for his hand without even thinking about it. I stopped just centimeters from his hand, starting to panic a little. Was it okay hold his hand? Was I gonna get in trouble for trying to hold his hand? I didn't know and I was scared. I whimpered loudly, Officer Mustang smiling weakly at me.

'You can hold my hand if you want to,' he said. I swallowed hard but took his hand. I glanced back at Winry. She was crying silently, just watching this whole thing play out. I think she was scared of everything I was – that I'd never see her or Granny again. I was terrified that after telling the truth and finally escaping Vanessa, Al and I would be torn away from the only life we'd ever known. That we'd be taken away from Dada and moved to a new house with a new family. I think Winry was scared of that, too. I remember smiling weakly at her, but quickly starting to cry again. I couldn't believe that I allowed Al to tell her our biggest secret. That after seven years of torture, Vanessa may not be able to hurt us ever again. It was so surreal. It all sort of felt like a dream or a nightmare. But it wasn't. It was real. It was happening. And there was nothing I could do to change that."

My watch starts to beep and I actually hear people gasp or whine softly. I sit back in my chair, a little surprised the fifteen minutes is already over. It sure as hell didn't feel like fifteen minutes. I mean, I was hoping to get to the part where me and Al were in the ER and Officer Mustang was trying to sit with us and…. I look around, everybody just staring at me. Dr. Hughes clears his throat, Dad shifting in his seat. He leans over and whispers in my ear "Are you finished?" I nod and he stands up, quickly thanks everyone for allowing him to sit in, and leaves. Everyone's eyes are still on me and it's clear they understand the next part of the story is the end and they don't want to wait until next week to hear it. I'm kinda worn out from recalling what Al and I consider part of one of the worst days of our lives, though, so they have to be okay with waiting. Like every week, when my watch goes off I'm done telling my story. Even though I kinda thought I'd be able to get through more of the day she got arrested, I did kinda have a feeling I wouldn't. That's why I've been thinking it'd be a couple more weeks 'til I got through the whole thing anyways. I'm really only planning to gloss over our time in foster care 'cause we did spend a week in foster care and did live in two separate homes and is so freaking hard to talk about. So, yeah. I'm done talking this week. They'll hear the end next week and then…. Well, I don't know what.

Like every week, kids talk after I do about the stuff they've been through. I'm not really listening to them, though. Some weeks it's easier for me to listen but for some reason this week, it's hard. My mind is stuck on my own story and what group's gonna be after next week. I guess I could talk about living in foster care but… I think that's too hard. Like, yeah, time has passed or whatever but the week me and Al spend in foster care was awful. Well, kinda. Like, when we lived with the Porters, that sucked. Mrs. Porter was strict and mean, Mr. Porter was apathetic and really couldn't care less, Tyler was a bit of a bully, and David molested Al. So, yeah, the Porters weren't a good time. But we didn't stay with them the whole time. Annie Ferris was nice and pretty much exactly what we needed considering everything that had happened and that we were a way from Dada but… we were away from Dada. I missed him so much while we were in foster care. Al and I were terrified that the state wouldn't think Dad was a fit parent and never let us go back home. Something I learned during that week is that the goal of foster care is to reunite the biological family whenever possible. Obviously, it's not always possible 'cause of how many freakin' kids are in foster care, but it was for us. Dada wasn't abusive, nor was he intentionally complicit. It wasn't like he knew it was happening but didn't do anything about it. He didn't know so after a week, we got to go home. I just know lots of other kids aren't as lucky and it's not exactly a subject I talk about much. I think I'd rather keep my stay in foster care to myself for a little while longer.

Dr. Hughes dismisses us when the hour's up. He's probably gonna want to talk to us and we gotta wait for Dad anyways so there's no rush. I mean, I'd like to bolt outta here to avoid Hannah and Nicole but I can't. Besides, they're Al's friends sorta. He thinks they're his friends. He honestly isn't sure sometimes. They can get mean and tease him a little harsher than friends do and he has a hard time deciding if they're actually friends or not. Sometimes, I have a hard time deciding if they're his friends, too. Well, I think Nicole's awful and doesn't give two shits about him. She doesn't seem to give two shits about anybody, actually, not even Hannah. Nicole's always really rude to Hannah and I don't know. It just seems like Nicole doesn't like anyone, not even her "friend". Al tugs on my sleeve, gesturing toward the door. Dad's here early. I hurry over and even if Dada's talking to Dr. Hughes, I'm gonna pretend me and Al are in the conversation so Hannah and Nicole don't try to talk to us. We make it over, Dada smiling at us.

"Hey, boys," he greets. We stop in front of him and Dad says, "I got you both something. Just a little treat." My brow furrows and Dada hands me a pack of Twizzlers – my favorite candy.

"Thanks," I say happily. He gives Al his favorite candy, those Hershey Cookies and Cream bars and kisses us both on the hair.

"Well, today was hard but you did so well," Dada tells me. "I'm really proud of you both." Al hugs Dada tight and I inch closer.

"Can we go?" I ask anxiously, "Please?" Dad pulls away from Al and nods.

"Of course," Dad replies. "Thank you, Dr. Hughes."

"You're welcome," Dr. Hughes says. "See you Friday, boys." Al waves at Dr. Hughes shyly and peeks around Dada. He waves again – probably at Hannah – and I tug on his arm. I pull him away and we leave, Al constantly looking backward.

"Something wrong?" Dad asks.

"I feel bad, Dad," Al replies. "I didn't say hi to Hannah."

"Be sure to talk to her tomorrow, then," Dad suggests, Al frowning.

"Dad?" Al asks.

"What?"

"I, uh," Al begins, tugging on his shirt, "Am I a good friend?"

"I think you are," Dada tells him. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," Al admits softly. "I guess…. I don't really know how to have friends." Dad pauses briefly and I stare at him.

"Honey, you have friends," Dada insists. "Is something going on?" Al shrugs.

"I'm fine," Al replies. "I just…. I don't think Hannah thinks I'm a good friend for some reason. Maybe I'm crazy, I don't know."

"I think that's your anxiety talking," Dad tells him as I cross my arms. I scowl, Dada glancing over at me. "Something to add, Ed?"

"I…." I look away and shake my head. "Nothing." My family stares at me and I glare at them. "What?"

"It just seems like you have something to say," Dada comments.

"I'm trying to be civil, Dad," I remind him. "I don't want to talk shit on Al's friend." Dad grins weakly and I roll my eyes. "God, okay. I just think it's Hannah who doesn't know how to have friends. She's always making fun of stuff Al likes and talking bad about people Al likes and told him that friends don't have secrets. That's not stuff friends do. So, I think Al knows how to have friends more than she does. That's all."

"Feel better, Al?" Dada asks. Al grins and nods.

"Yeah," Al replies. "I think I do. I wanna be a good friend."

"Al, you're an all-around good person," Dada tells him. "I love you so, so much and I'm so proud of you." Al smiles that goofy smile and I can't help but smile, too. My little brother is amazing. He's so kind and patient and I wish I could be more like him. We walk to the car, Dada tickling Al a little before getting in the car. I get in and sigh happily, Al giggling happily from the backseat. Dad starts the car and I turn to look at him.

"Dad?" I say.

"Yes?" Dada replies.

"I love you," I say. Dada grins broadly, pulling away from the parking lot and getting on the road.

"I love you, too, Ed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I have some exciting news. When this story ends (and that's creeping up on us fast!) there will be a sequel. It'll be an anthology of stories from Ed's life. There will be no overarching story, just moments from Ed's life. It'll be all over the place as he'll talk about being a little kid in one story and be going to college the next. It's going to be super fun and I'm really excited for it! Anyway, I hope you guys liked this chapter and I'll update again soon!


	58. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al is lonely, in case you didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is talk of self-harm in this chapter. Just a head's up.

Last night was quiet. I don't just mean after group, either. I mean we had a nice, quiet night. Everyone slept all night last night. I can't tell you the last time that happened. It's been so long. Well, we almost slept all night. Al wet the bed but we went right back to sleep once everything was all cleaned up. We didn't wake up until the morning when our alarms went off. It was weird. Not that I'm complaining, though. Getting a decent amount of sleep is so rare in our house. I'm totally okay with sleeping through the night. I just wish it'd happen more. Anyway, morning classes are over and nothing really happened. School really can be boring. Actually, school  _is_  boring. Like, I know it's important but it really is boring. I wish I could just reach myself stuff but that's not how it works. Or it'd be cool if Dad was my teacher. But he can't homeschool us so that's not possible. Al told me he did like being homeschooled by Teacher when he was in seventh grade. He got to learn at his own pace and got one-on-one time with Teacher when he didn't understand something. There were no other kids to tease and bully him. There weren't mean teachers or set schedules. Al actually really liked it but it was good for him to get out of the house. That's what Dad said. That and I think Dada felt like it was unfair to have Teacher continue to homeschool Al for an indefinite amount of time. I shake my head and walk to my locker, Al waiting for me. He's bouncing on his toes a little and he looks anxious. I hurry over and ask,

"Al? Is everything okay?" Al looks over and smiles weakly.

"Uh, yeah," Al replies, looking around. "Where's Winry? I gotta talk to her." My brow furrows.

"She's coming," I tell him. "Why do you need to talk to Winry?" Al shakes his head.

"I… I don't know if I should tell you," Al admits shyly.

"Is it about Mei?" I tease. Al shakes his head again.

"No," Al answers.

"C'mon," I pester. "Tell me. Big brother rights. You gotta tell me." Al blushes and looks away.

"I don't know," he says, tugging on his shirt. "I really shouldn't."

"Is it a secret?" I ask, trying to get more information. What in the world would Al need to talk to Winry about that he can't tell me?

"Um, no," Al replies. "Just…. It's something that might make you mad." I cross my arms.

"Oh, really?" I ask, Al shrinking away from me.

"Y-Yeah," Al whimpers. "Sorry." I sigh and shake my head.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I apologize, "I won't be mad at you if you don't tell me and I won't be mad if you do tell me. It's okay."

"Oh, I know you won't be mad at  _me_ ," Al tells me and my brow furrows. "It's someone else I'm worried about." I open my mouth to ask, Winry walking over.

"Hey, let's go," she says. "I'm  _starving_  and it's Bosco Sticks day. I wanna get in line before they run out!"

"Winry?" Al asks anxiously. "Can… Can I talk to you first? Uh, you and Brother?" Winry blinks but she nods.

"Hey, wait," I cut in, "You weren't gonna tell me."

"I changed my mind," Al says. "But you gotta promise not to tell anyone, okay?"

"Um, okay," I say, very unsure. "What's going on? You're kinda freaking me out."

"Yeah, what's going on, Al?" Winry asks worriedly.

"Um, so, I was trying to just ignore this but she won't stop," Al admits, his voice shaking. "She just keeps saying terrible things about Ed around me and sending me messages about how terrible of a person he is and that all he does is abuse me just like…." Al licks his lips and shakes his head.

"Who's doing this?" Winry presses gently.

"Hannah," Al replies softly. "It… hurts my feelings but she won't stop. When I asked her to, she blew up at me and yelled at me, like it was my fault what she's saying bothers me. What should I do?" I clench my jaw, Winry quickly putting a hand on my shoulder.

"I think you should try to bring it up with her again," Winry says. "Make sure you don't sound like you're being confrontational or anything but also make sure she knows you're serious."

"Yeah and if she yells at you again, tell her I'll beat her bloody for making you feel bad," I add, crossing my arms. Winry glares at me and Al shakes his head.

"I… I don't know if I can," Al tells us. "Sh-She got so mad last time. And I know she can be kinda mean but I think she's nice and I want her to be friends with me." Winry sighs as I huff loudly.

"Al," she says, shaking her head. "Al, I get wanting to keep her as a friend, but is it really worth it?" Al's chin quivers and he looks down.

"I don't know," he whimpers, sniffling loudly.

"Okay, okay," Winry says gently. "How's this? I have shop with her today and I'll gently bring it up with her. Maybe she'll listen to a third party. Oh, and she's coming over to my place tomorrow work on a shop project so you guys can come over and try to hash things out." Al nods and I roll my eyes.

"Al, c'mon," I complain. "She's a douche bag. When are you gonna see it?"

"Ed, lay off," Winry says quickly. "He just wants to have a friend that's all his. I think that's important for him, don't you?" I shake my head, my chin digging into my chest as I grumble to myself.

"Yeah," I agree angrily, "But maybe next time he can pick someone who's actually nice." Winry rolls her eyes.

"Whatever, Edward," she mumbles, taking Al's hand. She smiles warmly at him and says, "C'mon, Ally. I'll buy you some Bosco Sticks, okay?" Al nods, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

"Okay," he says. "My tummy's upset, though. I don't know if I can them."

"That's okay," Winry assures him, starting to walk toward the cafeteria. "You can share with Ed." I groan and hurry after them.

"I'm sorry I said what I said," I tell Al. "I'm trying to say nice things about Hannah and if I can't, I'm trying not to say anything at all. I just… want you to be happy and I'm trying to protect you. You've been kicked around so much and I don't want this girl to kick you around, too." Al nods.

"I know," Al says quietly. "I also know it might be dumb to be her friend but I'm lonely and so is she. I don't want to be mean to her." I sigh fondly and shake my head; typical Al. We walk into the cafeteria and get in line.

"Guys." I turn around, Ling getting in line behind us.

"Hey," I greet.

"You're late," Winry comments. Ling smiles sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, the nurse took forever getting my glucometer for me," Ling explains. "I wish the school would let me do my own checks but they won't. I've been checking my own sugars since I was a kid." I forget that Ling's got diabetes a lot. He's got the kid kind – type one, I think. That's the one where your body doesn't make insulin so you can't process sugar right. Ling got diagnosed in fourth grade, I think. He started drinking all the time and was cranky and always had to pee. It was really bad and he ended up getting an insulin pump a couple years after he was diagnosed. Anyway, I forget he has it 'cause he doesn't talk about it much. His sugars are pretty much under control so it's not a common topic of conversation. It did make him super sick last year, though. It's an autoimmune thing so it can take its toll on people.

"That's annoying," I comment.

"Yeah, well, it is what it is," Ling says, shrugging it off. "This school won't even let kids use their inhalers outside the nurses' office. It's stupid but nothing I can do to change it."

"Ling, doesn't checking your sugar hurt?" Al asks.

"A little," Ling tells him. "I pick a new finger each time so it doesn't hurt too bad. And I haven't had to give myself an insulin shot in years. The pump is a miracle. I think the shots hurt more." Al shudders a little.

"I hate shots," Al says. Ling shrugs.

"They aren't so bad," Ling replies. We get our food and walk to our table. Rose, Paninya and Lan Fan are there already so we sit down. I start to eat, everyone talking about something. I'm not really listening. All I can think about is what Al said. Hannah's talking shit about me to Al? What the hell does she think she can gain from that? It kinda makes no sense. Like, does she think she can get Al to hate me or something? That's, like, never gonna happen. Sure, I get scared sometimes that Al hates me but deep down I know he doesn't. That kid adores me and I adore him. Seriously – why is Hannah talking shit about me? I really don't get it.

"Hey, Al." I groan softly, Al turning around a little.

"Hi, Hannah," Al greets softly, Hannah sitting down next to him. The whole table watches with wide eyes as Hannah works up the courage to talk to him. I huff loudly and take an angry bite of my Bosco Stick. Hannah glares at me and I swallow what's in my mouth. I stare her down, Winry elbowing me in the side.

" _Stop it_ ," she hisses. I elbow her back, Winry elbowing me harder.

"Hey, um, so are you doing anything tonight?" Hannah asks, Al swallowing anxiously.

"Well, uh, are we, Ed?" Al asks. Hannah scowls at him.

"I didn't ask Ed," Hannah tells Al harshly. The air around the table tenses as Hannah continues, "You don't have to ask your brother for permission to hang out with someone." Rose shifts awkwardly, Lan Fan clearing her throat. Okay, yeah – this is awkward. Ling quickly glances over at me and I grimace at him. He shakes his head and Al just is kinda sitting in his chair.

"Um," Al says quietly, staring at his lap. "I-I… I don't think we're doing anything."

"Good," Hannah replies. "I made cupcakes and I was thinking I could bring them to your house and we could watch a movie." Al blushes a little and shakes his head.

"I-I don't know," Al says, twisting his hands together. "We… need to ask Dada."

" _We?_ " Hannah questions, Al flinching.

"I-I m-mean…."

"Okay," Paninya cuts in, everyone looking at her. "You need to back off." Hannah glares at Paninya.

"This has nothing to do with you!" Hannah snaps.

"You've really made him uncomfortable," Lan Fan says, her brows pointed downward. "He and Ed are close and that's just something you have to deal with." I grin briefly – I'm so glad my friends look after Al. I really owe them for this one.

"Ed's an asshole," Hannah says, Ling and Winry standing up at the same time.

"Okay,  _no_ ," Ling says angrily. "That's not fair. You have no idea what he's been through!"

"Actually, I know more than you think," Hannah argues and I shrink in my chair. I don't like where this is going.

"Please don't fight," Al begs, his voice shaking. "Hannah, you can come over. I don't think Dada will mind."

"Al," Winry sighs, "Al, you don't have to –"

"I-I want t-to," Al hurriedly says. He shakes his head and stands up. "I gotta go… to the bathroom." Al hurries away and I stand up. I stand up, too, and glare at Hannah.

"Way to go," I tell her. Hannah flips me off and I clench my jaw. I wanna punch Hannah in her stupid face. I wanna punch her so bad. But I can't. Dad doesn't want me to fight in school. I can't fight in school. Ms. Hawkeye said I'd get in trouble for real if I got in another fight. I can't fight. I just glare at her and hurry away from the table, Winry calling,

"Ed! Hold on!" I ignore her and quickly follow after Al. I don't know what he's thinking. He might want to scratch until he bleeds. I gotta stop him before he hurts himself. I hurry down the hallway, pausing at one of the bathrooms. I go inside, listening carefully. I hear someone crying softly and I say,

"Al?" The crying turns to sniffling and I walk toward the last stall.

"Go away, Brother," Al says miserably. I sigh and lean up against the wall next to the stall Al's in.

"That got a little out of hand, huh?" I ask gently.

"Uh-huh," Al agrees, sniffling.

"Al, do you know why Hannah's been saying mean things about me to you?" I question, trying to understand why she's torturing Al this way. She's gotta realize that it doesn't make him hate me. It makes him miserable and he can't stand up for himself right now. Outside of hurting Al, I have no idea what why she's talking shit about me to him. It just makes no sense.

"I... I don't know," Al answers. "She just does it. Sh-She mostly s-says that… that you abuse me. I don't know why sh-she'd say that, honest!"

"Al, I'm not mad at you," I assure him. "I'm just trying to figure out why someone who says they're your friend would do this to you." Al doesn't say anything for a minute. He just cries softly behind the stall door.

"I wanna go home," Al cries softly after a while.

"Yeah, I know," I tell him. "It's okay, buddy."

"Ed?" Al asks. "Do you think I did the right thing when I told Hannah she can come over? We didn't ask Dada first but she was yelling at Ling. She wasn't being very nice and I wanted the fight to stop."

"Honestly? I have no idea." I tell him honestly. "What happened at the table was so weird that I think I would have said just about anything to get it to stop."

"Especially when Hannah told Ling she knows more than he thinks she does," Al reminds me. "Do you... do you think everyone else will ask questions?"

"Maybe," I sigh, hanging my head. "I'm not ready to tell them, but if Hannah says something while we're gone or they ask questions… I guess I'll have to."

"Brother, friends aren't supposed to be mean to each other, are they?" Al asks pathetically.

"Well, no," I reply gently. "They aren't."

"Then why is Hannah mean to me?" Al cries. "Is it because I'm a bad boy? Do I just deserve it because I'm so bad?"

"You aren't bad," I tell him quickly. "That's just shit  _she_ told you. It's a lie. I don't know why she's so mean to you. You're awesome and you definitely don't deserve it."

"I don't feel good," Al says. "My tummy's upset."

"I know," I say, trying to comfort him. "Al, come out, okay? Everything's fine."

"I… can't." My heart stalls.

"Why?" I ask slowly.

"I… I'm sucking my thumb." I sigh in relief and shake my head.

"So, you didn't hurt yourself?" I ask.

"N-No," Al replies. "I did this instead. I know I'm not supposed to! But I didn't have a pen or paper or anything to do alternatives with and I'm really trying hard not to hurt myself so I didn't know what else to do! I'm sorry!"

"Hey, hey," I say, trying to calm him down. "It's okay. I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself. But, I think if you came out and gave me a hug, we could fix the other thing. Don't you?"

"Yeah," Al agrees, unlocking the stall door. He walks out and gives me a big hug. I hug him tight, lifting his feet off the ground a little. He giggles softly and I hug him tighter. I wish he could laugh all the time. I wish Al could be happy all the time. He used to. When he was a little kid, he was so happy. He smiled and laughed and was silly all the time. I want Al to be that way again. Today it feels like we're never gonna get there.

"You okay?" I ask him softly. I feel Al nod, his shaking arms still wrapped tightly around me.

"I think so," Al answers.

"Let's head back," I suggest. "Everyone's probably worried." Al nods and lets go of me. I take his hand and we walk out of the bathroom. I open the door, gasping when I see Winry standing outside of it.

"What the hell, Winry?" I cry, surprised to see her standing there. She huffs and crosses her arms.

"I got worried," she explains. "You guys were taking a long time and I was worried something had happened." I sigh and shake my head, a small smile on my face.

"You worry too much," I tease, Winry scowling at me. "We're both okay. Al just got really anxious and had to get away." Winry nods.

"Yeah, uh, that was weird," Winry says. "She seemed mad at us but I think she's still planning on coming over to your house, Al. She said she'd text you? Does she have an iPhone?" Al nods.

"Yeah," Al replies. "We use iMessage sometimes to talk to each other. As long as I have wi-fi, she can text me."

"Hey, Al?" Winry asks and she sounds nervous.

"What?" Al answers.

"Just… be careful, okay?" Winry advises. "I'm worried. I just can't shake this feeling that something bad's gonna happen." Al smiles weakly.

"I'll be okay," he tells her. "Brother and Dada will be there the whole time. She's just gonna come over and watch a movie." Winry nods, though she doesn't seem sure.

"Okay," she says. "I don't want anything bad happening to you." Al lets go of my hand and walks over to Winry. He gives her a big hug, his shaking hands rubbing her back.

"Thank you, Winry," he says softly. "I love you."

"Love you, too, kiddo," she sighs, hugging him tighter.

"Win, you don't gotta worry," I assure her. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to Al. It's gonna be okay. Besides, what's Hannah gonna do? If she comes to our house what's the worst that could happen?" Winry ends the hug and shakes her head.

" _God_ , I don't know," she answers truthfully. "It's just a feeling I have. It doesn't make sense, I know. I guess I'm worried she'll bully Al or talk bad about you in front of him. I know that bothers him."

"It does," Al says.

"Are you gonna talk to her about it?" Winry asks. Al shakes his head and Winry sighs. "Then is it okay if I try and bring it up in shop? I think she should know, Al, and if you won't stand up for yourself, me and Ed need to." Al twists his shirt anxiously.

"I-I d-don't know," Al replies, his voice shaking.

"Al, if she can't handle your feelings then she's not a very good friend," I tell him. "It's not cool for her to do what she's doing and it's gotta stop. Let Winry help, okay?"

"You're probably just gonna do it anyway," Al mumbles. "You'll do it even if I don't want you to." Winry scowls.

"Hey, that's not fair," she tells him. "I'm only trying to help."

"I know," Al says. "I'm sorry."

"If you don't want me to talk to her, I won't," Winry says. "Besides, if she gets mad at someone, it'll probably be me. Don't worry about."

"But what if she's upset when she comes over and starts to say mean things about you, too?" Al asks miserably.

"Then tell your dad and have him kick her out," Winry suggests.

"Yeah, Hannah's not his favorite person," I remind him.

"It's okay," Al replies. "I want her to stop saying mean things about Brother."

"Then I'll talk to her for you," Winry decides. "I'll be nice but firm."

"Okay," Al says. We walk back to the lunch table, a note sitting by Al's food.

"What's that?" I ask, sitting down. Ling scowls and crosses his arms.

"It's from Hannah," Ling scoffs. Al picks it up and reads it, the air around our table still tense. Al shakes his head and folds the note up. He puts it in his pocket and says,

"I'm sorry about that. She can be kind of mean sometimes."

"What did the note say, Alphie?" I ask.

"It said she was gonna come over at 7:00," Al tells me. "Are you gonna be okay with her in our house?" I huff a little.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I say. "As long as she's nice to you."

"What's her deal, anyways?" Paninya asks. "I thought she was your friend."

"Um, yeah, she is," Al answers. "I mean, I think she is. I don't know. She's nice to me sometimes."

"Seems like a crappy friend," Rose comments, muttering. Al looks at his lap.

"Maybe," he says softly.

"Don't worry," Winry tells him, "I'll talk to her today in shop and it should help. And you guys will have fun tonight, yeah?" Al grins weakly and nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. The weight of Hannah's presence hangs in the air throughout the rest of lunch, none of able to forget just how terribly she treated Al.

The school day ends and all I can think about is that shit with Hannah. I don't get why she's talking shit about me to Al. It makes no sense. And why was she such an asshole at the lunch table? I figured she'd want to be nice around Al's friends. Maybe she's trying to isolate Al or something. I've read that abusive friends and stuff can isolate their victims from friends and family. Then they make that person feel like shit all while that person blames themselves for what's going on. Me and Al know all about that.  _She_ did all that stuff and I never did understand what  _she_ gained from it. Dr. Hughes thinks part of it was a power trip – having power over other people can be important to people. Maybe that's Hannah's deal. Maybe she just wants to have power over Al. Or maybe she just doesn't know how to be a decent human being. I don't know. Anyway, Dad seemed excited to have company when he picked us up from school. I don't think he's thrilled it's Hannah, but he is happy that Al's finally comfortable enough to have a friend over. It is kind of a big deal, especially for Al. He couldn't even talk to us after the abuse ended so for him to have a friend coming over is huge. We both just wish it wasn't Hannah.

Dada picks up some dinner and we all eat. Al's getting antsy 'cause Hannah's gonna be here soon. He's talking really eagerly about what he's gonna watch with her when she gets here. He's also curious about what flavor of cupcake Hannah baked for the occasion. I bite my tongue the whole time. As much as I hate Hannah and think this is all gonna blow up in poor Al's face, I think it's important for him to have friends of his own. If Al's ever gonna learn to be more independent, we gotta encourage stuff like that. We don't have to like his friends, we just gotta like that he has them. That's really hard for me. If this all is gonna blow up in his face, he's gonna get hurt. Al deserves to be happy and I'm sick and tired of people hurting him all the time. He's always been bullied in school. Nobody in his grade really likes him. It's not fair. Al's an amazing person and people don't like him 'cause of rumors and some of the things he's done in the past. Not like bad things, but some of the stuff we both did as kids when we were being abused was, well, embarrassing and the kids in Al's grade haven't forgotten all that shit. But since starting high school, Al's done his best to keep his head down and basically disappear. If Hannah hurts him like all the other kids do, I'm gonna beat her up or something. I'm not just gonna sit by and allow her to hurt Al. He deserves better than that. I sigh and look at my phone. It's 7:15; Hannah's late. I look up, Al standing up and peeking out the window.

"D'you think she's okay?" Al asks, obviously worried.

"Check your iPad, honey," Dada tells him, working on a crossword. Al hurries back to the couch and checks his iPad.

"Anything?" I ask. Al shakes his head.

"No," he says, dejected. I can hear the tears in his voice so I quickly say,

"Text her. Maybe she's just running late." Al nods, Dada fumbling around on the couch.

"Boys, have you seen my glasses?" Dad asks. I take one glance at Dad and sigh.

"They're in your shirt pocket, Dada," I tell him. Dad looks and grins, pulling them out of his shirt pocket.

"I think I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to me," he jokes, going back to his crossword puzzle. Al's staring at his iPad, clearly waiting for Hannah to text back. I sigh and shake my head. I can't stand to see him like this. He was so excited and it seems like this Hannah-thing is already about to blow up in his face.

"So, uh, what movie are you gonna watch with her when she gets here?" I ask, trying to cheer him up. Al shrugs halfheartedly.

"I don't know," he says softly, setting his iPad down.

"She likes the Abrams Trek movies, right?" I ask. Al nods miserably. "Why don't we put on the first one, then?  _Into Darkness_  blows but the first one is good."

"Are we watching  _Star Trek_ , boys?" Dad asks, looking up.

"When Hannah gets here, yeah," I answer. Dada's brow furrows and he looks at his phone.

"Oh, I didn't realize how late it was," Dad comments. "Shall I make popcorn? I'm assuming she'll be here soon." Al shrugs and I shift on the couch.

"Yeah!" I say enthusiastically. "That sounds good, right, Al?"

"Sure," Al replies, lifting his legs up on the couch and hugging them close to his body. Dad smiles at him sadly and stands up. He kisses Al's forehead and walks into the kitchen.

"She's just late," I tell him, hoping I sound confident. As much as I don't like Hannah, if she stood Al up it would crush him. Outside of my friends, he doesn't have any. I don't know why she'd do this to him. It really makes no sense.

"Yeah," Al agrees. "I'll check my iPad again. Maybe she texted me back."

"Does she drive?" I ask. Al frowns.

"I don't think so," Al replies, opening his iPad. I can hear Dada making popcorn, Al sighing and shaking his head. Al sets his iPad down after typing a message and sighs.

"I, uh, don't think she's coming, Brother," he tells me miserably. "I've texted her a lot and haven't heard anything.

"Hold on," I say, unlocking my phone.

_How did your chat with Hannah go?_ I text Winry. I wait, iMessage telling me that she's typing.

_Fine. I think. I don't know. She was pretty pissed off but she was pissed at me. Why?_ Winry replies within seconds.

_I think she's standing Al up,_ I type.  _She's really late and ignoring his messages._  I wait for Winry to text back.

_Oh God. Dang it. I think this might be my fault. I shouldn't have talked her at all. I'm sorry, Ed._ I shake my head and reply;

_Not your fault. You were trying to help. Al wasn't gonna stand up for himself. Hannah's a dick if she can't admit that what she was doing wasn't cool._

_Yeah, I guess, but what about Al?_ Winry asks.I shake my head and look over at him. He's hugging his knees tightly, his face resting on his knees.

_I don't know._ I type, putting my phone away.

"Al," I say, Dad walking back in, "It's okay. You, me, and Dada will watch the movie and it'll be fun." Al looks over at me and starts to cry. He hides his face and cries, Dad setting the bowl down and sitting down next to him.

"Oh, honey," he sighs, rubbing Al's back. "It's okay, baby. It's okay." Dad looks over at me and mouths, "What happened?" I shake my head.

"Hannah's not coming," I say softly, staring at my lap. Dada's brow furrows.

"How do you know? Did she text Al?" Dad asks.

"It's pretty obvious by now," I mutter, Dad raising an eyebrow at me. I sigh, realizing that I'm gonna have to tell Dada everything that's been going on. "Hannah's been saying bad and mean things about me to Al for months. She gave him her number and she's got an iPhone so he can use iMessage to talk to her on his iPad and she's been texting bad stuff about me, too. It's getting on his nerves but you know Al. He wasn't gonna say anything to her so Winry offered to talk to her about it. Before she could, Hannah ambushed him at lunch today saying she made these cupcakes and wanted to come over to watch a movie. She was really mean to him that whole time and he kinda reluctantly agreed to let her come over after our friends yelled at her for being so pushy. Winry ended up talking to her in shop and now…. She's been ignoring Al all night and she's not coming." Dad shakes his head and hugs Al tighter.

"Oh no," Dada says softly. "What did Winry say to her?"

"I don't know," I say. "From what Winry told me at school, she was just gonna tell her that talking shit on me makes Al uncomfortable and yeah. I think Winry was gonna talk to her in a way that made it more about Al's feelings so she'd be more receptive but I'm getting the feeling Hannah got offended."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Dada says, trying to comfort Al who's distraught. "I'm sorry." This isn't the first time Al's been stood up. It's happened once before and even though this is hard for me to watch, the first time it happened is seared in my brain forever.

The same May  _she_ got arrested, Dada planned a huge birthday party for Al to sort of make it up to him. Well, okay, not make it up to him but you know what I mean. He thought it would be a nice way to show Al how much he really cares about us. Anyway, Al was already in his bad place, but the idea of a party seemed to excite him. Al was in sixth grade by then, but Dada managed to find out who was in his homeroom class and invited all of them. Winry was invited, too, but she was the only one of my friends who got invited. I think Dad realized how much the abuse damaged Al's ability to make friends and was hoping that if Al had an awesome twelfth birthday party, maybe he'd be able to make some friends his age. So, Dada figured having Al's party at a laser tag place in Morton would do the trick. He rented a party room, got a huge chocolate and vanilla swirl cake, and a ton of balloons. Everyone was super excited, even Al who was too depressed most of the time to do much of anything. He wasn't talking much back then, but everything he did say was party related. It was all he could talk about. Even though we were both really unsure about everything in our lives then, I remember thinking that Dad was really coming through and that maybe he really did love us. Finally, the big day arrived. It was a Saturday morning and we got to the place after an early lunch. Dada and Granny set the party room all up, Al eagerly watching them. Me and Winry helped a little, though my hands didn't stop shaking. I was an anxious mess back then. We both were. But I was putting on a brave face for my little brother who needed me to.

After a while, it was nearly party time. No one was there yet. I remember Al got a little upset so Dada assured him it was still early. Said it was far away from home and would take a little longer for people to get to the laser tag place. Told him sometimes people are late to birthday parties and that was normal. Al bought it. It wasn't like he had much experience with birthday parties growing up. He and I were constantly in trouble for one reason or another, preventing us from having the large-scale parties all kids want to have. That calmed Al down for a few minutes. I remember standing near Dad and Granny and hearing them whisper worriedly to themselves. Granny asked Dad if anyone said they were coming. Dad said half the class sent in a RSVP. Granny asked if the invites had directions. Dada said yes, they did. There was no reason for every single guest to be so late. I looked over at Al. Winry was playing with him. She's always been good with Al. She understood what he was going through and that he sometimes needed to act younger to feel safe. Chico was there, obviously, and Winry was making good use of him. Lots of silly games and little giggles from Al. She was distracting him, trying to delay what might be a disaster. The start time came and went without a single guest showing up. Dada started to frantically call parents of the kids who said they were coming. Al was starting to catch on. He's not stupid. He asked Dad where everyone was. Dad didn't have a bullshit excuse to give. He just said he didn't know.

We hung around for a while but it was clear thirty minutes after the party time that no one was coming. Al was a mess. He cried and cried, completely inconsolable. Dada felt terrible. He had put in all that work to make Al feel better, to prove to us that he cared and loved us, and it blew up in his face. The party was a complete and utter disaster. Problem was, we rented the room for a couple hours and Dada couldn't get a refund, even after explaining what happened. All he got was free food for the rest of the party time and a free game of laser tag for our family whenever we wanted to come back. We didn't play laser tag that day. We didn't do anything. Al didn't open presents. We didn't have cake. All the little gift bags and place settings went unused. Dad was heartbroken and did his best to comfort Al. We eventually just packed up and went home, not caring about refunds or free food. After that, Al got lower than he'd ever been and it's an uphill battle since then. He's finally getting better, finally opening himself up to other people only to fucking get hurt –  _again_. What is it with people wanting to torture my baby brother? What about him is that unlikable? What about him do people target? Why does everyone stand him up, reject, and bully him? I don't understand. I don't think I ever will.

We sit on the couch and Al cries himself to sleep. Dada holds him close and I end up putting the movie on anyways. Dad and I are sort of watching, snacking on the popcorn Dad made while Picard sits next to Dad. I lean on Dada a bit, Al breathing softly in my ear. Poor kid. I can't believe Hannah did this to him. She claims to be his friend. Hell, I think she has a crush on him for crying out loud! She's always talking about how cute he is and how his eyes change colors. Why the hell would she treat him like this?! I don't get it. Dada chuckles softly beside me, the movie making him laugh. Al stirs and whimpers in his sleep softly. Dad pats his back a little, Al calming down. My phone starts to vibrate and I look at it. Winry's calling me. I get up, tell Dad I'll be right back, and answer;

"Hi, Win."

"Did Hannah ever show up?" Winry asks me. I shake my head.

"No," I say into my phone. I hear Winry sigh, her voice shaking.

"Damn it," she mutters. I can't see her face, but I can imagine how she looks right now. Her chin's probably quivering, blinking a lot as she fights tears. "Ed, I'm sorry. I have a feeling this happened 'cause of what I said to her. I'm sorry."

"What  _did_  you say to her?" I ask curiously.

"Ugh, geeze," Winry complains. "Nothing mean or anything. I just told her that she needed to lay off you when she's talking to Al. That's really it."

"Did she seem angry?" I ask.

"Not really," Winry replies. "She sort of muttered that Al needs to grow up if he can't understand that you make her 'anxious' and that you're abusive toward everyone around you. It's bullshit, Ed. I don't get why she hates you so much. Like, she's going to group and knows your story and sees how good you are with Ally. I just don't get it."

"Apparently, caring about Al and trying to keep him safe is abusive," I scoff. Winry doesn't reply so I say, "Look, Winry, this isn't your fault. You weren't mean to her, you didn't call her out, and you kept the focus on Al and how he feels. You knew he wasn't gonna stand up for himself so you did it for him. Al doesn't blame you."

"How is he?" Winry asks.

"Sleeping," I answer, leaning up against the wall. "It didn't take him long to figure out what was going on. He tried to be optimistic for a bit but he couldn't keep it up for long. He cried himself to sleep."

"Oh,  _God_ ," Winry sighs.

"I know," I say softly.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Winry asks worriedly.

"Eventually," I tell her. "Hopefully, this'll help him understand what real friends are like."

"I just…. I don't get it." Winry says.

"Get what?" I ask. "This thing with Hannah?"

"Well, yeah," Winry responds, "But I'm Al's friend. He's got friends. I don't understand why he has such a hard time understanding how friends are supposed to act."

"Oh," I breathe, "Well, I don't really…. I mean…. Maybe outside of you and Mei, he feels like our friends aren't really his. Like, maybe he feels like they just hang around him out of obligation or something. Al does have a hard time grasping the fact that me and Dada like him sometimes. And you gotta remember that after preschool, Al didn't really have any friends. Making friends isn't something he's had a lot of experience with so he doesn't think he knows how."

"I guess that's true," Winry agrees. "His self-esteem is super low."

"I know," I say softly. "It didn't used to be." My voice cracks and I shake my, fighting tears. "Winry, do you remember how Al was when he was little?"

"Of course," Winry replies softly.

"He was so happy," I mumble. "He didn't care what people thought about him. He had so many friends. He was so confident and silly and laughed all the time.  _She_ destroyed him, Winry."

"Yeah," Winry agrees quietly, Den barking in the background.

"Oh, God, Win," I cry, my voice shaking. "Maybe Al's never gonna get better. Maybe…." I trail off, choking a little as I start to cry.

"Ed," Winry says gently. "Ed, it'll be okay. Al will get over this. He will. He's already gotten better. Really, he has. You both have. It's gonna be okay."

"H-How do you kn-know?" I ask pathetically.

"I guess I don't, really," Winry admits, "But you've been doing so well so I just have faith that you guys will both be okay someday. Like, really actually okay." I wipe my face, my hands shaking as I sniffle loudly.

"If you say so," I mumble, sniveling like a stupid little kid.

"Ed, I gotta let Den out," Winry tells me. "Wanna Face Time later?"

"No," I reply, sniffing. "That's okay. I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Are you guys gonna come over tomorrow after therapy?" Winry asks. "Hannah's gonna be there. Maybe she and Al can work things out? Or get some answers at the very least."

"Hold on," I say, lowering my phone. "Dada?"

"Yes?" Dad calls from the living room.

"Wanna go over to Winry's for dinner tomorrow after therapy?" I ask.

"That's a lovely idea," Dada says. "Sounds like a plan, Ed." I raise my phone back up to my ear.

"We're coming," I say. "We're gonna come over for dinner."

"Great," Winry replies cheerfully. "I'll tell Granny."

"Okay," I say.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ed," Winry tells me. I nod and Winry says, "Ed?"  
"What?" I ask.

"I love you." I swallow hard and nod.

"I, uh, love you, too," I say softly. "Bye." I hang up and sigh, putting my phone back in my pocket. I walk back into the living room, Dada looking up and smiling at me.

"Hey, kiddo," Dad greets. I sit down next to him and sigh. "Something the matter?"

"Yeah, uh, Hannah's gonna be at Winry's house tomorrow," I tell him. I look up at him, Dad's brow furrowed. "I know – you think I'm crazy for wanting to go over there tomorrow. But isn't part of being independent and a grown-up facing problems instead of ignoring them? Al can't just avoid Hannah. He's gotta face the problem and solve it, whatever that might mean, right?" Dad nods, a proud smile on his face. My blood feels grossly sweet and I grin weakly back.

"I'd say that is part of growing up, you're right," Dada agrees, "But I don't know if Al is ready for that. And yes, I know growing up and recovery sometimes means doing things we're not ready for but this has been devastating for Al. Do you think going to Winry's tomorrow night will help?" I shrug, pulling my legs up on to the couch. I hug them close, my chin resting on my knees.

"I don't know," I admit. "I want it to. That's all I want, you know. I'm not trying to abuse Al." Dad's brow furrows.

"Abuse Al?" Dada questions. "Ed, what in the world are you talking about?" I shake my head and sniffle, trying to hide in my knees.

"That's what Hannah says about me, you know," I tell him. "She says that 'cause I'm protective and look after Al that I'm abusing him. Dr. Hughes says that's not true but… what if it is?"

"Honey, you're not abusing Alphonse," Dada assures me gently. "Dr. Hughes is right. You might be a bit over-protective sometimes but your heart is in the right place and it's not abusive in the slightest. You love your brother and he loves you. You are not an abusive person. You are a very good person." I don't do anything. I feel Dada start to touch me and I instinctively tense up before Dada start to tickle me. I laugh softly, Dada tickling me faster. I lift my head and squirm a little, starting to laugh louder.

"Stop it!" I laugh, kicking Dada with my right leg.

"You goofy boy," Dad says, finally stopping. I sit up straight, Al moaning in Dad's lap. He sits up, his hair sticking up all over the place and rubs his eyes.

"What's going on?" Al asks sleepily.

"Ed's just a goofball, Alphie," Dada tells him. "He's ticklish, isn't he?" Al nods, rubbing his eyes while sitting on Dada's lap.

"Yeah," he yawns. He rests his head on Dad's chest and sighs, closing his eyes again.

"You okay, honey?" Dad asks gently. Al nods.

"I guess," he replies. "I'm just tired."

"You can get ready for bed if you want," Dada reminds him, Al nodding.

"Yeah," Al says tiredly, "But I'd like to sit with you for a little while if that's okay."

"Of course," Dad says warmly. "You can stay here on my lap as long as you want." Al nods and shuts his eyes again.

"Dad," I sigh, my head resting on the back of the couch.

"What?" Dad replies.

"I think I'm going to bed," I inform him. I watch Dad check his phone.

"It's only nine," Dada comments. "Are you sleepy?"

"Kinda," I say softly. "I just have this feeling that it's gonna be a long night. Wanna get a head start on the sleeping thing." Dad hums and nods.

"Good point," Dada sighs, rubbing his temples. I stand up and stretch a little, Al shifting and looking up at me.

"Where are you going?" Al asks tiredly. I smile at him and bend down so I can look at him.

"Just upstairs, buddy," I tell him. "I'm gonna take a quick shower and go to bed." Al stares up at me and I ruffle his hair. "I'll see you in a bit, yeah?"

"Yeah," Al says, cuddling closer to Dada.

"Good night, Ed," Dada says, "I love you. Want me to tuck you in?" I blush a little and shrug.

"You… you don't have to," I answer, embarrassed. Dada smiles fondly at me.

"I'll be up in a little while," Dad tells me. "I'll tuck you both in, okay?" I nod and hurry up the stairs. I grab some pajamas from my room and walk to the bathroom. I pee and then stare at myself in the mirror. I've got bags under my eyes and I wanna force up four words I always say when I see myself in the mirror. I lick my lips, scratching at some scars on my left arm. I shake my head – I don't want to hurt myself. I take my clothes off and get in the shower. I can't stop thinking about Al and Hannah. Watching Al cry himself to sleep because Hannah stood him up…. That's all I'm gonna think about tonight. I was sort of hoping that the hot water would help me forget what happened tonight or at least bury it so I could sleep. It's not working. I've turned the water up so hot that it's almost burning me and it's not doing anything. I…. I let this happen to Al. I didn't do enough to protect him. I should have done more to warn him off of Hannah, but I thought that would do more harm than good! I was trying to let him make his own choices and friends! I want him to be happy and independent! God, I was trying to help! I was trying to not abuse him! I yell wordlessly and back up to the shower wall. I sit down on the bottom of the tub, breathing heavily. The water's smacking my skin. It's almost burning me. I wanna cut. I wanna cut. I wanna cut. This is all my fault!

"It's my fault," I whimper, hugging my legs to my chest. My prosthetic slips off. I don't care. I just want to cut. I want to cut. I did this to Al. This is my fault! "Fuck! Damn it! Shit!" I shake my head. I can't cut! I gotta set a good example for Al! Besides! I've been clean for over a year! I can't cut. I can't. This…. This isn't my fault. I didn't stand Al up. A prick named Hannah did. I did the best I could, I think. I didn't hurt Al. I didn't hurt Al. I close my eyes, the water still hitting my face. In with my nose, out with my mouth. In with my nose, out my mouth. My breathing's under control so I grab my leg. I get up, slipping a little, but manage to stand up without falling over. I quickly finish my shower and get out, sitting on the toilet.

"Oh,  _shit_ ," I wheeze. " _Fuck_." In through my nose, out through my mouth. I am so fucking anxious. I got myself all worked up over this Hannah and Al shit. I bury my face in my hands and do my deep breathing exercises. It takes forever, but I'm finally breathing normally again. I get dressed and walk to my room. Al's not here. I crawl into my bed and hug Lamby tight. My throat is tight. I don't wanna cry. I don't wanna. I lay in bed for a minute, the door opening. I sit up, Dada walking in while carrying Al.

"You okay?" Dad asks. I shrug.

"I guess," I reply.

"I thought I heard you fall," Dad tells me, sitting on the edge of the bed, Al on his lap. "I didn't hear any signs of distress, but I was worried."

"My prosthetic fell off but I'm okay," I explain.

"Oh," Dada sighs. "I don't know how safe that is, Ed. Showering with your leg, I mean." I shrug and he says, "I think you need to use the bath bench, honey. It's safer." I scowl at him.

"I'm not ten anymore," I mumble.

"Ed," Dad says softly. "You've fallen in the shower recently."  
"Dada," I groan, "It's fine. I'm fine. I've learned how to do it."

"If you say so," Dad says, unconvinced. "Al, honey, go put your pajamas on." Al nods and gets off Dada's lap. Dad inches closer to me and puts his arm around me.

"What?" I ask.

"I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings, Ed," Dad tells me. "I just don't want you to get hurt." I shake my head.

"Dada, I spent over a year in physical therapy," I remind him. "I had to relearn how to walk and shower and go to the bathroom. It's been six years." Dada pats my thigh.

"I know, sweetie," Dada says. "But, you know, it's okay to have trouble sometimes with it still. Losing a leg isn't easy and you have recovered well, but I know how stiff and sore your stump gets in winter." I grin weakly.

"It does get sore," I agree. Al walking over to the bed. He pulls back the covers and crawls in next to me. I lay down, Dada tucking us both in.

"Boys, we don't have to go to Pinako's tomorrow," Dad tells us softly.

"It's okay, Dada," Al replies. "I want to. I want to know why Hannah's being so mean." Dada nods silently.

"Besides," I add, "Granny always makes great food. We can't miss out on that." Dad smiles at me.

"Well, if you change your minds tomorrow we won't go," Dada tells us. He kisses us both and says, "Love you, boys. Sweet dreams."

"Love you, Dada," I say.

"Love you," Al echoes. Dada stands up, turns the light off, and leaves the door open just a little bit. Al's night light is glowing softly as he hugs me tight.

"You okay, Al?" I ask. Al hums softly.

"Yeah," he replies. "Just a really crappy night, you know?" I nod.

"Yeah, I know," I answer. "Look, everything's gonna be okay. Whatever happens with Hannah, I promise you're not alone. Me and Winry and all our friends are gonna be there for you. They're your friends too, okay?" Al nods.

"Brother," Al says softly. "Is going to Winry's tomorrow night really a good idea? Is Hannah even gonna talk to me?" I sigh.

"She might," I reply. "Even if she doesn't, you can tell her you're tired of being treated like shit. It's gonna be okay, I promise." Al yawns and cuddles even closer to me. I smile warmly and turn back quickly and kiss his hair.

"I love you," I tell him.

"Love you, too, Ed," Al say sleepily. I sigh happily and shut my eyes, praying that tomorrow night goes well. For Al's sake, it has to.


End file.
